The Accomplice(19)
The three men scrambled to their feet. Mason took something out of his backpack and stashed it in the pocket of the army jacket Luna was wearing.
“I just came by to bring you that,” said Mason as he made a quick departure.
Ted foisted on Luna the half-empty bottle of whiskey. “For you,” he said as he slipped out of the room.
Luna dropped the bottle on her desk, then took Mason’s weed out of her pocket and stored it in her dresser drawer.
“So many admirers,” Owen said. “How can you possibly keep them all satisfied?”
“Keys,” Luna said, holding out her hand.
Owen fished in his pocket and handed them over. He tried not to look as guilty as he felt. Luna tried not to look as angry as she felt.
“They just came by. I didn’t invite them in,” Owen said.
Luna opened her door wide to encourage Owen’s departure. It took Owen a moment to get the hint.
“Ohhh. You want me to leave.”
“I need some me time,” Luna said.
October 8, 2019
Detective Burns gazed out the grimy window of the Deerkill police station and carefully observed Luna and Owen chatting on the front steps. Owen was smoking. Burns, who had a good nose, hadn’t detected the odor of even a casual smoker during the interview. Trauma often caused people to return to bad habits. So did fear. And guilt. Luna had to have bought the cigarettes for him. Luna was not smoking. So, Luna had anticipated his need. There was something intimate about that.
Detective Goldman approached his partner, carrying two fresh mugs of coffee. He followed Burns’s gaze out the window. “ME confirmed that Irene died yesterday. There’s no point in testing the husband’s pajamas.”
“Right,” Burns said. She took a sip of the piping hot coffee and winced.
“You going to tell me what you’re thinking?” Noah asked.
“I don’t think anything yet,” Margot said.
Margot’s first partner, now retired, had tunnel vision. He always trusted his gut and never let go. She came to realize that his gut was more about his psychological biases than anything else. If he wouldn’t like someone in day-to-day life, he was more prone to like them for murder. Margot’s takeaway from five years with the man was to keep her mind open until the weight of the evidence was too much to bear. At times it came off as absurd, like you had to beat her over the head with the truth. Still, she stood by her process. This annoyed the shit out of Noah because she would frequently ask for his early impressions. Just by answering the question, he was failing her test.
“What’s your read on those two?” Burns asked.
Sometimes Goldman would refuse to answer on principle, but then Margot would keep asking.
“I think that whatever those two are, it’s not normal,” Goldman said.
Burns nodded. She was thinking the same thing.
* * *
—
Luna’s phone buzzed relentlessly as she drove Owen away from the Deerkill police station. Owen retrieved Luna’s mobile from her purse and read the messages as if they were his own. Luna didn’t mind, these days. The only secrets she currently had were the thoughts in her head.
“You haven’t told Sam?” Owen asked, having noted the impatient tone of Sam’s texts.
“He was gone when I got home after—I didn’t want to tell him before a surgery. What if he fucked it up? I’d always wonder if it was my fault the patient walked with a limp the rest of their life.”
“I’m going to tell him you’re alive. That’s all. He heard a jogger was murdered, and I bet he thought it was you.”
“Shit, you’re right,” said Luna, glancing at her phone as she hit the brakes for a stop sign. She grabbed the phone from Owen and quickly knocked out a text.
Driving. Will call soon. I’m fine.
“We should be the ones to tell Leo,” she said, passing the phone back to Owen.
“Let’s get it over with now.”
“Don’t you want to go home first? Put on some normal clothes?”
“For a man who wears pajamas all day? No.”
* * *
—
Luna had promised Leo she’d drop by that morning to help him review résumés again.
Leo swung open the door and said, “You’re three hours late.”
Leo was wearing his work uniform. Boxer shorts and a moth-eaten T-shirt. A long silk robe pulled the outfit together. Luna wasn’t sure if he wore the robe all the time or when he was expecting company.
“Leo, I’m sorry. It was unavoidable,” Luna said.
“Wasn’t expecting Owen,” Leo said, studying Owen’s bizarre ensemble.
“Can we come in?” Luna said.
The trio entered the house. Luna sat Leo down on the couch while Owen disappeared into the kitchen and returned with three glasses and a bottle of Wild Turkey.
“What’s going on?” Leo said in a bracing tone.
Owen refrained from responding, reminded himself that he had to behave the way a man in mourning behaves, although he struggled with the notion that one must impose outside rules of performance on personal conduct. Like the last time, he thought. Grief would be so much easier if you didn’t have to spend your time worrying about whether you were doing it right. Owen sat down on the couch and poured the bourbon.