...And Never Let HerGo

streetlights.
    “Maybe she
walked
away,” Donovan said.
    Kathleen shook her head. “No. She was very conscious of her safety in this neighborhood; she wouldn’t walk alone outside, especially at night.”
    Brian Short, a tenant in the apartment house next door, spoke to the police. He hadn’t seen Anne Marie for a few days, he said, but he remembered seeing her sometime in the past few weeks, leaving with a middle-aged man. The man’s car had been a black “Bronco-type” vehicle.
    It was nearly 3 A.M. before Jill Morrison and Ginny Columbus almost reluctantly handed Mark Daniels several sheets of what appeared to be a law firm’s stationery. His eyes scanned down the pages, and then he handed them silently to Bob Donovan.
    Both men recognized the name on the law firm’s letterhead. Tom Capano.
Tom Capano.
He had once been Donovan’s boss’s boss. For that matter, he had also been Daniels’ boss’s legal adviser. City, county, state: everyone knew him. He was a straight shooter, a longtime and well-respected public servant. But these letters were obviously very personal. Anne Marie Fahey might as well have been saving intimate letters from the governor himself. They wouldn’t have been any more surprised.
    However, the letters substantiated what they had found in themissing woman’s diary. They had a dictatorial tone to them, and had apparently been sent along with cash or checks.
    The first letter had no date, but was probably several months old, as it mentioned Christmas.
    Dearest Annie,
    Please consider the enclosed an early—and only partial—Christmas gift. I want you to be able to join Kathleen and Patrick at the Saloon on Saturday night. When we talked about it before, it seemed to me that you wanted to go but had decided against it because of the cost. Now you can afford to do what you wanted to do. Also, since Robert has apparently changed his dinner plans to Sunday, you can be part of the celebration. Should Robert decide to have you for dinner on Saturday instead, then please use this to buy dinner (no drinks!) next week for Sherry and your hostess. Of course, you could tell Robert you’re busy on Saturday and would like to see him on Sunday. I know that by doing this I am encouraging you to go to Robert’s on Sunday. That means you will not be free to have dinner with me either at home or at the Villa d’ Roma. As much as I want to be with you on Sunday, I want you to be able to go to the Saloon because I think it will make you happy to share an evening with your family. Annie, I will miss you next week more than you can imagine. It would help a lot if we could be together on Sunday night after Robert’s. I promise to get you out of the house as early as you like on Monday morning. Please consider it. And please accept this gift in the spirit in which it is given. All I want is to make you happy and be with you. I love you . . .
    Kathleen told them she had taken her husband, Pat, out for dinner at the Saloon during the first week of December 1995. Anne Marie hadn’t gone with them.
    Another, dated May 2, 1996, read:
    Annie, this is not a gift; it is a loan to replace your windshield. You can repay half of it when you get a check from your insurance company. The balance can be repaid at the rate of five dollars per week. Of course, if you default, there is a penalty. You will have to scrub my toilets and iron my boxers.
    Please accept this. The windshield stresses you and it’s dangerous. I could do more if you would let me (like replace the Jetta with a Lexus 300 ES Coach Edition). Maybe some day.
    Tom
    P.S. Don’t these bills look like Monopoly money? But I got them from a bank. Honest.
    A third letter was dated only five days earlier—June 25:
    Annie, just add this to the balance. Consider it a consolidation loan (that’s a joke). Kidding aside, you should not be penniless for several days in case of an emergency (like an overpowering yearning for a latte).
    I’d have sent more but I know you’ll have a hard time accepting even this. Please accept it in the spirit in which it’s given and don’t spend it on Jill.
    Tom
    The letters were directives; Capano sounded like a border collie herding sheep, heading off objections and alternatives before Anne Marie could think of them. Either the missing woman was his mistress or he
wanted
her to be his mistress or he was the most generous guy in Wilmington.
    The investigators couldn’t ask Anne Marie what the letters meant or what