No One Will Miss Her(65)

Fuller smiled. He had nice teeth; it was a shame about the horrible beard.

“You are absolutely free to go,” he said, and I thought of Geller’s instructions. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. He said it. I can leave. But could I stand up now, when I’d only just sat down? Would Adrienne, traumatized and terrified and waiting to find out that her husband was dead, be so eager to go back to the empty house where she’d just shot her lover? I was sure she wouldn’t. Not now. Not yet.

“Okay,” he said. “I know it’s late and we all want to go home, so we’ll try to make this quick. But it’ll be best for everyone if we can get your side of the story right away, while it’s still fresh.”

“It was self-defense,” I said, again. This was all I was supposed to say, but both men watched me, waiting for more, and the silence stretched long and uncomfortable. It was self-defense; what else was there? I swallowed hard, clutching my own crossed arms. Maybe I should ask a question of my own.

“He killed—he said he killed my husband. Have you found him? Have you found Ethan?” I asked.

Fuller and Murray exchanged looks.

“We’re working on that,” Fuller said. “But there’s no reason to necessarily believe, you know—”

“But he said!” I cried, and incredibly, maybe just from sheer exhaustion, I felt my eyes start to well with tears. I sniffled and swiped at them, remembering as I did the way that Adrienne used to press a finger into her lower lid and draw it outward, because rubbing her eye like a normal person would make her mascara smudge. Fuller leaned in.

“Listen, try not to worry about that for right now. We’re going to find your husband. I promise. Let’s back up, okay? Why don’t we get a little background, a little more about you. No pressure. You’re from the South, yeah?”

I sniffled again.

“North Carolina.”

“Good,” Fuller said. “That’s good. Raleigh?”

“No,” I said, and heard Adrienne’s voice. First in my head, and then coming out of my mouth. “West. Near the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

“Country roads, take me home,” Fuller suddenly warbled, in a gruff but surprisingly tuneful voice, then smiled. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. That’s a nice spot. You get back there much?”

I stared at him. “No.”

He nodded. “Your folks still there?”

“Just my mother.” I paused to think. I knew a good amount about this; Adrienne had been candid with me about her mother’s condition, how she felt about it, how little she cared. But would she talk about that with this man? No. Never. “She’s . . . in a home. Alzheimer’s.”

“You don’t visit?”

I shook my head and sniffled again for good measure. “She’s in pretty bad shape. It would just upset her.”

“Sure, sure,” said Fuller. “So, no other family? How about around here?”

“Just my husband.”

He cocked his head. “You been married long?”

“Ten years.”

“Long time,” he said. “I never made it that far myself. You got any tips?”

I almost answered. The question was so casual, so conversational, that I almost didn’t notice how we were sliding sidelong toward Adrienne’s marriage, Adrienne’s happiness, Adrienne’s relationship with Dwayne—which they knew about, didn’t they? They had to. I glanced from Fuller to Murray, wondering if the other cop might jump in, but he didn’t seem to have any lines. Fuller cleared his throat, opened his mouth to ask another question—and then someone rapped on the window, and he blinked with annoyance. Outside, another man in plain clothes was holding up a hand with the thumb and pinky extended, the universal symbol for phone call.

“Excuse me,” Fuller said. “This should just take a second.”

Fuller left, pulling the door closed behind him. In the fraction of a second before he did, I heard him growl at the interrupter: “This better b—” he started to say, and then the latch clicked and silence descended. I was alone with Murray, who was now looking at me with equal parts nervousness and contempt, like I was a pile of vomit on a carpet that he was afraid he’d be tapped to clean up. He glanced up at the camera, then back at me. The hallway outside the window was empty, both Fuller and the interrupting cop no longer in view. Long seconds passed without anyone speaking. I hugged my arms tighter across my chest.

“Are you cold?” Murray asked.

“A little.”

“Mmm,” he said. He flicked his eyes toward the door and then the hallway behind the window—still empty—and shifted in his chair. His Adam’s apple kept bobbing like he was getting ready to say something, then deciding better of it. I wondered if he’d been instructed not to talk to me, and if so, I wondered why.

“You know,” he said finally, “I was outside your house earlier. Sat there for a while, actually.”

I tried to keep my face neutral.

“Oh? I didn’t see you.”

“Well, I saw you,” he said. He smirked at me. “How was your dinner? What’d you get, Japanese?”

I was starting to sweat. How long had he been there, watching?

“Yeah. It was fine.” A lie: I thought Japanese food would be something like Chinese food, greasy and salty, but of course Adrienne didn’t eat that stuff. Her dinner order turned out to be one little tray full of raw fish and a second one full of something slimy, probably seaweed. I’d choked it down out of desperation. Murray was still smirking.