Dead to Her(79)

Thunder rolled again. How loud must it have been outside if she could hear it all the way down here in the bowels of the building. It was the grumble of ghosts. Ghosts. Her head had been filled with ghosts. The boy—always the boy—Eleanor, Lyle, and William. Except William wasn’t dead. He was somewhere in between. Did the ghosts talk to him now too? Today’s nugget of treasure, a glittering jewel of a gift, had been the news that William wasn’t going to die yet. Which meant that neither would she if they found her guilty. It would be attempted murder, not murder. A life in a cell for her and a life trapped unmoving in the dark for him. Buried alive in his own skin. She trembled. Guilty. Was she guilty? She hadn’t wished this on him.

She’d expected more questions today or for this to reach what seemed the natural conclusion—they’d charge her. Even her lawyer—her attorney, as they called him—was talking about plea deals and mitigating circumstances, as if her fate was predestined to go a certain way. She should be more nervous, but it all rolled over her. She’d reached too high above her station and now she had to fall. The girls at the club would be laughing now. What would Dolly think? Had the police already talked to her? She stared at the ceiling of her cell, drifting through memories. Maybe this would be it for the rest of her life. A narrow bed. A narrow room. A narrow view. Bells and shouting and routine. No more drinking and dancing. No more aiming high. She felt suddenly, desperately tired. At least she’d escaped her family. But no more Marcie. How was she supposed to cope with that?

When her attorney returned, his fat face was smiling. It wasn’t an expression she’d seen before. “I’ve got some good news,” he said. “The game is not lost.” He rubbed his hands together. A game. Her life was a game to him. “They’re not charging you yet, but they have applied to keep you ninety-six hours without charge and that’s been granted.”

“That’s the good news?” she asked. It didn’t sound so good. The conclusion was still probably inevitable.

“No, that’s not it.” He drew himself up tall and his grin widened. “There’s a fresh line of inquiry. A serious one. A new suspect. They’re bringing him in now.”

Keisha’s head swirled as she gasped, her heart thumping, life bursting through her veins again. She’d resigned herself to this fate. She’d half-convinced herself that she’d actually done it. Now here was a glimmer of hope—a chance at freedom. It was almost too much to bear. Him the attorney had said. But who?





49.

Marcie knew that surreal thoughts had a tendency to fill her head when she was panicking, but that didn’t stop her from being annoyed that the cleaner wasn’t due until tomorrow and they were traipsing all over her house while the bathrooms weren’t perfect and there were clothes on the bedroom floor.

“Do you have a personal computer in the house, Mrs. Maddox?” Detective Anderson asked. “We’ll need to take it if you do.”

“An iPad,” Marcie said. “I think it’s in the kitchen. And a MacBook in the den, where the rest of the boxes we haven’t unpacked are. But I never use that.” They’d already taken Jason’s desktop and laptop—she’d seen them go by as the officers took them out. Her nerves jangled. He said he’d thrown the yearbook and the note in the trash. She hadn’t checked. What if he hadn’t? Where were they?

“Are you sure I can’t get you some tea?” she asked again. She knew she was pale and trembling. At least her fear was helping her fake her shock.

She’d gotten out of the shower, a long blissfully hot affair, barely ninety minutes before to find Jason throwing clothes in a duffel bag and rummaging in a drawer for his passport. Sandy had sent him a text from the restroom telling him that the police were all over the office, locking it down. He’d snapped at Marcie to get packing. They needed to go. Immediately. Marcie hadn’t moved. Wrapped in a towel, skin scrubbed pink and brain fuzzy from the heat, she’d instead sat on the bed and told him no, they couldn’t run. How guilty would they look? She’d asked how obvious his issues—she hadn’t wanted to say thefts—were in the accounts or whatever at work. He’d said they’d have to dig deep to find the start of the trail, but he didn’t even understand why they were looking. There was no reason to, no one was suspicious of him at work. He was the golden boy. The king in waiting. Why would they be storming the firm as if they knew something?

There hadn’t been any more time for discussion, because the doorbell had rung and Marcie had quickly emptied out the bag and crammed it in the closet, while Jason answered the door, and now here they were.

Or rather here they weren’t. Only Marcie was, in her robe with her hair still wet; her husband had been taken in for questioning, while she worried that the men searching her house were judging her cleaning standards.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Anderson said, answering for both herself and the huge detective standing behind the couch where she sat. “I know this must be unsettling, but we will leave your house tidy, I assure you.”

Marcie nodded. She’d already been through the I don’t understand why you’re here routine and she didn’t want to lay her disbelief on too thick. They’d had a tip-off, Anderson had said, before they took Jason away, regarding his financial activities in the firm. Jason had already called Thomas Tonyer to come down and meet him. At least they didn’t have to worry about representation. Attorneys always knew the best attorneys.