Before She Knew Him(60)
And sometimes he does that right before or right after we have sex.
But all marriages must be a little bit like that. How well could you really know another person?
Still, she wondered: What if Matthew really had murdered Jay, and what if he’d enjoyed it so much that he’d continued to kill? Their neighbor Hen believed that Matthew had killed a former Sussex Hall student named Dustin Miller. Mira actually remembered the case; it had been all over the local news. An unsolved homicide of an affluent young man in a nice neighborhood in Cambridge. She’d brought it up to Matthew as soon as she learned that Dustin had been one of his students, and he’d told her he barely remembered him; maybe he’d even said he didn’t know him, she couldn’t exactly recall. Over the last week—since Hen’s accusations—she’d been reading up about the Dustin Miller homicide, still unsolved, and one of the things that had come out was that Dustin had been accused of sexual assault during his time at Sussex Hall. That was news to her, and she couldn’t help thinking that if that were the case, then wouldn’t Matthew have remembered him? It would have been a huge deal.
Hating herself for doing it, Mira had looked up the exact date that Dustin Miller had died. It had been in the spring, two and a half years ago. She checked her work calendar; she’d been in Kansas City that entire week. It didn’t really mean anything, considering how much time she spent traveling, but she would have been a whole lot happier to discover that she wasn’t away during that particular week.
And now: Scott Doyle. She hadn’t been traveling then, had she?
No. Just passed out because your husband kept plying you with drinks.
And it turned out that Matthew did have a connection with Scott Doyle, although a very remote one. He was the ex-boyfriend of Michelle Brine, a fellow history teacher at Sussex Hall. Had she told Matthew something about her boyfriend, something bad?
He only kills men. He kills men who mistreat women.
Mira allowed herself a moment to consider that it was all true. Matthew killed Jay because he was abusing her. Then he killed Dustin Miller because Dustin was a rapist who had gotten away with it. And, finally, Matthew killed Scott Doyle because there must have been something rotten about him as well. Michelle, his fellow teacher, must have confided in him.
Mira realized she was grinding her teeth and made herself stop. She got off the bed and went to the window and stared out into the dusky evening, a sprawl of office buildings intersected by a grid of city streets. Most of the buildings were dark, some completely abandoned, and most of the car lights she could see were red, commuters fleeing downtown Wichita for bedroom communities.
What do I do? she thought. If I really believe it’s a possibility that Matthew is a killer, then what do I do?
Would she turn him in?
He saved you.
He wasn’t exactly a serial killer. He was a vigilante. And maybe (please, please, let it be maybe) he was neither of those things. Maybe Hen Mazur from next door was the crazy one, persecuting him, getting into her head, making her doubt her own marriage.
Mira heard the phone buzz on her bed and went back to look at it, expecting a message from Matthew. But it was John McAleer, texting her back: No problemo. Totally understand, but I’ll still check in later, see if I can convince you to get one drink. After the message he’d put one of those smiling, winking emoji faces. Suddenly she realized that John was determined to see her during this trip, and she was a little nervous. Also a little annoyed. She decided to just not text him back, not give him any encouragement at all. Men were creeps. Like all women, she’d known this for a long time. Apparently her husband knew this as well. Maybe she should call him up, tell him she was having a problem with a pesky colleague here in Wichita. See if John McAleer wound up dead in a week. She actually giggled out loud at the thought, the laughter making her chest hurt worse than it already was.
She wasn’t hungry, but she opened up the room service menu anyway. If she didn’t eat now, she’d wake up starving in the middle of the night.
Chapter 29
“Where’d you sleep last night?” Lloyd asked.
Hen was in the kitchen, waiting for the coffee maker to beep, a mug in her hand.
“Oh, sorry. I slept on the couch.”
“Were you up all night sketching?”
“No, I wasn’t. I slept. I promise.”
“I missed you,” Lloyd said, and sat down at the kitchen table, pouring himself a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios.
Hen took a sip of her coffee, then said, “I realized last night that I never even asked you about Rob’s party. It was a little hectic when you got back.”
“Yeah, I’ll say. It was fine. Same old, same old.”
“Who was there?”
“The usual crowd, plus or minus a few people. Todd and Steve, of course. Evan was there, and Chrissy, and then there were some new people. A couple of neighbors I hadn’t seen before.”
As he spoke, milk dribbled down his chin, and he wiped at it with the back of his hand.
“Rob seeing anyone new?”
“If he was, she wasn’t there. No, I don’t think so.”
“Has he had any girlfriends since Joanna?”
“Since Joanna?” Lloyd looked toward the ceiling, and Hen tried to see if he was giving anything away. “I don’t think so. It’s not exactly like he lives in an area filled with available single women.”