Lies She Told(54)

The officer is a wall of a black man. Broad shoulders, broad torso. He gives me a guilty smile and steps into the room. His partner, a middle-aged blonde woman with wide shoulders and deep frown lines, follows behind him. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“An officer, Colleen Landry, is missing. A neighbor called this morning after seeing blood in the hallway outside her apartment. It’s Colleen’s. And there was a lot of it.”

Jake blinks at the man as though he hasn’t understood him. After a beat, he scratches the stubble on his cheek. “Have you checked with family? She has a sister in the Bronx.”

“Her sister hasn’t heard from her,” the female officer says. “Neither have her pals. She was meeting up with a girlfriend last night for late drinks and never showed.”

My gut twists. Colleen hadn’t been headed to chase down Jake and confront me after all. I let my jaw drop. “Is that the policewoman who was in your office yesterday? The one you were working that case with?”

Jake’s hand rakes down his mouth and drops to his side. “Yes.” He clears his throat. “She was a witness on a prior case, and she was in my office.” He glances at the male officer. I wonder what he might be trying to communicate with his eyes: Please act as though our relationship was professional.

“Helping with a current case,” I offer. “The one about the socialite who backed her car into those people.”

He gives a sheepish smile to the two detectives as though they know something by virtue of being here. Maybe the whole police department is aware that Jake and Colleen were lovers, that I was the stupid wife with an infant at home.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask while walking into the kitchen. “Water? Juice.” If it weren’t for Colleen’s shoes on my feet, I might be enjoying Jake’s distress. He’s so close to being outed.

“No, thank you.”

The female officer eyes my husband. “Officer Landry’s friend said that Ms. Landry was meeting with you before she failed to show for drinks.”

My husband glances at me. I try to keep my wide-eyed, curious expression intact. “We had dinner,” he says. “I wanted to pick her brain on a case.”

I stare at him, doing my best to feign what I would be feeling if this were my first hint that my husband had been cheating. The gut-wrenching emotions I felt when I first saw Jake’s hand on Colleen’s back are inaccessible to me. Still, I blink at him and let my lips part, pretending to be suspicious yet hopeful that maybe there’s an innocent explanation.

“Where did you go?” The female officer looks at me as she asks. Is she trying to tip me off to my husband’s affair? If she is, then she can’t think I had anything to do with Officer Colleen’s death. Then again, she could simply be gauging my reactions. I focus on Jake, pretending to be interested in the answer.

He clears his throat for the second time. All the moisture in it must have evaporated. “You know, I think I’d rather do this at the precinct. I have work to catch up on, and that way, I’ll be near the office.”

“Jake worked late last night.” I pump earnestness into my voice as though all I want to do is be helpful to my husband. “We had dinner plans, but this case kept him.”

The male detective nods as though he doesn’t know my husband has been feeding me a crock of horseshit. “And what time did he get off work?”

“She wasn’t here,” Jake snaps.

“I just came in five minutes ago, actually. When Jake had to cancel on me because of the case, I went back to get our daughter from my mother’s house and ended up spending the night.”

“What time did you get in?” Again, the female officer asks Jake for a direct answer.

In response, he walks to the coat closet and grabs his suit jacket. “As I’ve said, I’d prefer to answer these questions downtown, detectives.”

The detectives nod and follow Jake out the door. Before the female officer leaves, she passes me a business card. “If you think of anything,” she says cryptically.

I nod at her, doe eyed, as though I haven’t any idea what she means.





LIZA


Someone is chasing me. I run from them all night, racing through unfamiliar alleyways, sweating in a black tank that I’ve never owned and ill-fitting jeans. I flee my pursuer into the subway, diving into empty cars. I speed away in a vehicle, right foot pressing the gas pedal to the carpet, yellowed knuckles gripping the steering wheel. Still, there is no escape.

I wake in a confused fever. Where am I? Who am I? What is real? Sunlight, too pale for the afternoon, pours through my bedroom window. Its visual alarm reflects off my laptop’s metal shell into my tired eyes. The end of the month will be here before I know it. Trevor won’t give me an extension.

The blanket is still pulled tight to the headboard on David’s side of the bed. He didn’t come home. Likely, he crashed on his office couch. Or he went to Cameron’s apartment, Beth says.

“Right now, that’s the least of my concerns.” I answer her aloud, comforted by the familiar sound of my scratchy, gravely morning voice. David wasn’t sleeping with anyone in his emotional state. He probably didn’t sleep at all.

I roll from beneath the covers and head to the bathroom. Last night’s vomiting has left me dehydrated. There’s barely anything to evacuate. Still, I go through the motions: toilet, shower, brush teeth, dress. The acts feel superfluous. My husband might have killed a man. What does it matter if my breath smells?