The Couple Next Door(31)

Marco sidesteps the question. “I think things will turn around.”

Rasbach lets it go. “Let’s talk about your wife for a moment,” he says. “You say that she’s been depressed. You told me earlier that she was diagnosed with postpartum depression by her doctor. Her psychiatrist. A doctor . . .” He consults his notes. “Lumsden.” He lifts his eyes. “Who is currently away.”

“Yes, you know that,” Marco says. “How many times do we have to go over this?”

“Can you describe her symptoms for me?”

Marco moves restlessly in the uncomfortable metal chair. He feels like a worm pinned to a board. “As I’ve told you before, she was sad, crying a lot, listless. She seemed overwhelmed at times. She wasn’t getting enough sleep. Cora’s a pretty fussy baby.” When he says this, he remembers that she is gone and has to pause a moment to regain his self-control. “I suggested she get someone to help her with the baby, so that she could take a nap during the day, but she wouldn’t. I think she felt she should be able to manage on her own, without help.”

“Your wife has a history of mental illness?”

Marco looks up, startled. “What? No. She has a bit of a history of depression, like a million other people.” His voice is firm. “Mental illness, no.” Marco doesn’t like what the detective is suggesting. He braces himself for what’s coming next.

“Postpartum depression is considered a mental illness, but let’s not quibble.” Rasbach leans back in his chair and looks at Marco as if to say, Can we speak frankly? “Did you ever worry that Anne might harm the baby? Or harm herself?”

“No, never.”

“Even though you looked up postpartum psychosis on the Internet?”

So they have been through his computer. They’ve seen what he’s looked at, the stories about women murdering their children. Marco can feel the sweat break out in tiny beads on his forehead. He moves around in his chair. “No. I told you about that. . . . When Anne was diagnosed, I wanted to know more about it, so I did some searches on postpartum depression. You know what it’s like on the Internet, one thing leads to another. You follow the links. I was just curious. I didn’t read those stories about women who went crazy and killed their kids because I was worried about Anne. No way.”

Rasbach stares at him without saying anything.

“Look, if I was worried that Anne might harm our baby, I wouldn’t have left her home alone with the baby all day, would I?”

“I don’t know. Would you?”

The gloves have come off. Rasbach looks at him, waiting.

Marco glares back. “Are you going to charge us with something?” Marco asks.

“No, not at this time,” the detective says. “You’re free to go.”

Marco stands up slowly, pushing his chair back. He wants to run the hell out of there, but he’s going to take his time, he’s going to look like he’s in control, even if it isn’t true.

“Just one more thing,” Rasbach says. “Do you know anyone with an electric car, or possibly a hybrid?”

Marco hesitates. “I don’t think so,” he says.

“That’s all,” the detective says, rising from his chair. “Thanks for coming in.”

Marco wants to get right in Rasbach’s face and snarl, Why don’t you do your goddamned job and find our baby? But instead he strides, too quickly, out of the room. Once outside the door, he realizes he doesn’t know where Anne is. He cannot leave without her. Rasbach comes up behind him.

“If you’d like to wait for your wife, we shouldn’t be too long,” he says, and goes down the corridor and opens a door into another room, where, Marco presumes, his wife sits waiting.





THIRTEEN


Anne sits in the cool interview room and shivers. She is wearing jeans and only a thin T-shirt. The room is over-air-conditioned. The woman officer stands by the door, discreetly watching her. They told Anne that she’s here voluntarily, that she’s free to go at any time, but it feels like she’s a prisoner.

Anne wonders what is going on in the other room, where they’re interviewing Marco. It is a stratagem, to separate them. It makes her nervous and unsure of herself. The police obviously suspect them. They are going to try to set Anne and Marco against each other.

Anne needs to prepare herself for what’s coming, but she doesn’t know how.

She considers telling them that she wants to speak to a lawyer but fears that will make her look guilty. Her parents could afford to get her the best criminal lawyer in the city, but she’s afraid to ask them. What would they think if she asked them to get her a lawyer? And what about Marco? Do they each need a separate lawyer? It infuriates her, because she knows they did not harm their baby; the police are wasting their time. And meanwhile Cora is alone somewhere, terrified, abused, or— Anne feels like she’s going to be sick.

To stop herself from throwing up, she thinks instead about Marco. But then she sees it again in her mind, him kissing Cynthia, his hands on her body—the body that is so much more desirable than her own. She tells herself that he was drunk, that Cynthia probably came on to him, just like he said, rather than the other way around. She’d watched Cynthia come on to Marco all night. Still, Marco went out back with her for a cigarette. He was just as much to blame. They both denied they were having an affair, but she doesn’t know what to believe.