Once inside his living room, Swanson introduced me to his wife, Nancy, who said, “Come meet the kids.”
She walked me to the door of the den and I saw three little ones, each under ten years old, lying on beanbag chairs, watching a movie in their pajamas.
I was introduced to Maeve, Joey, and Pat as “Daddy’s friend from work,” after which Nancy stayed with the kids and I went to the wood-paneled living room furnished in plaid-covered sofas with dense pile carpet underfoot.
I sat on one of the sofas and turned down Swanson’s offer of “coffee or whatever.” And I was struck by how much he had aged in the last few weeks.
His face was ashen. His shoulders slumped. He looked like a man who was headed for a heart attack. And that it could happen any minute.
“I spent the day at Robertson’s house,” Swanson said. “I saw the chair where he shot himself. Thought about what a decent guy he was. Asked myself why he had done it.”
“What did you make of that?” I asked him.
I don’t think Swanson heard me.
He said, “I went through his checkbook. He wasn’t loaded and he wasn’t hurting. I rummaged through the files in his desk. Found the results of his last physical. No diabetes or cancer or heart disease. His blood pressure was a touch high. So is mine.
“I looked in the medicine chest. Advil. Tums. Something for athlete’s foot.”
Swanson shook his head.
I said, “What else?”
“Vasquez spoke to the neighbor who inherited the dog. Guy’s name is Murray. Murray was Robertson’s drinking buddy. They watched ball games t
ogether. Murray didn’t see it coming. He said Kyle had been moody but not overtly depressed. But I gotta tell you, Boxer, none of us saw this coming. CSI has Robertson’s laptop. Maybe that’ll tell us something.”
“Ted. Can we get real, here? Kyle Robertson didn’t kill himself on a whim. Was he involved with the robberies we’ve been working? Had he been threatened? Did he have information he wished he didn’t have? I think you know.”
Swanson’s face sagged. He said, “I could be a target. What happened to Tommy Calhoun’s family could happen to mine. What would you do if you were in my shoes?”
“I would talk to someone who can help you.”
“What are you suggesting, Boxer?”
“You know what I’m getting at. Give me something to work with. Chief Jacobi was my partner. We’ve been tight for more than a dozen years. He’ll listen to me.”
“I’ve got nothing to say.”
Swanson was crouching in his seat, leaning over his knees as he talked. “We were working our jobs. Just like you. Maybe Calhoun got too close to something and maybe Robertson knew what it was.”
“That’s the story you’re going with? You don’t know anything?”
“I’m going to bed now, Boxer,” he said. “It’s been another rotten day.”
He was saying he didn’t want to talk to me, but the look on his face told me otherwise. I swear he wanted to confide in me. But we both stood and he walked away from me. I showed myself to the door, and as I passed the den, I heard the children laughing. I was crazy scared for those little kids and for Nancy and Ted Swanson, too.
Honest to God, I found him believable, even though I didn’t believe him at all.
CHAPTER 94
I CAME AWAY from my visit with Ted Swanson thinking he’d been lying, and that was not only disturbing, but it added to my doubts about him.
He said he was worried about being attacked, but he wouldn’t tell me what he knew. I was frustrated and angry and I couldn’t help thinking about the murder scene at Tom Calhoun’s house, knowing that Swanson was thinking about it, too.
My hand was on my car door when Nancy Swanson called my name. She was walking quickly across the lawn, and when she reached me, she got right into my face.
She said, “You listen to me, Sergeant. It’s hard to keep the job out of this house, but I try. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have let you through the door.”