The Perfect Marriage(39)
“Officer, please, I just left my teenage son in the cancer ward at Sloan Kettering. Now I’m being told that there’s some type of criminal activity in my husband’s office. I didn’t even know he was here. He told me he was in Washington, DC, last night. So, please, just tell me what’s going on. I’m begging you.”
“I don’t know any of the details. But I’ll make sure that a detective comes downstairs to talk to you as soon as they have any information.”
Reid didn’t think Jessica would remain upright when the police officer walked away. He put his arm around her, feeling her weight pull on him.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said.
She didn’t even look at him. It was as if she already knew it wasn’t going to be okay. Reid could hardly blame her, of course. He knew it too.
Neither Jessica nor Owen had replied by the time Wayne was back in his classroom, awaiting the arrival of his fourth-period class—AP bio. The kids swarmed in en masse, the normal rowdiness of seniors who had already submitted their college applications and no longer cared about anything that occurred during the school day.
Wayne had always felt a bit of resentment toward his students. To a one, they had no idea how privileged they were. The worst of the bunch actually thought he worked for them because the tiniest fraction of the ungodly tuition their parents paid went toward his salary. When Owen had fallen sick, however, Wayne’s anger toward his students intensified. Now they were not only rich but healthy, and each and every one of them took both for granted.
Normally he kept his anger toward his students in check and thought he did a pretty good job of educating them. But today, Wayne felt like he was about to burst.
“Settle down, everyone. We’ve got a lot to cover, so please, just settle down.”
“Relax, Mr. Fiske,” said Taylor Ferguson, one of God’s favorites, born rich, handsome, and smart, though not as smart as he thought. “It’s all good. No need to stress.”
Wayne shut his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. Now was not the time to lose control. He needed to continue as if everything were fine.
To Owen’s surprise, it had begun snowing while he was in the doctor’s office. He doubted it would stick because nothing short of a nor’easter provided snow cover in Manhattan. But for the moment, at least, the snow gave the city a magical feel.
After the doctor, Owen would usually go back to school. But he had already missed orchestra practice and music theory, which were the classes he cared most about anyway. The rest of the day held the usual math and science crap, which bored him to tears. So he cinched his winter coat and began walking toward James’s office, which was only about fifteen blocks away.
The falling snow had collected in his hair to the point that when he caught his reflection in one of the shop windows, he looked like he was wearing a powdered wig from the Revolutionary War. When he passed the diner that he and his father had gone to the other day, he caught the eyes of two girls wearing the green tartan skirts of some nearby private school—they must have been cutting class. They giggled in his general direction in a way he thought was complimentary, so he smiled back in their general direction.
A few blocks later he saw a line of police cars and an ambulance parked in front of the building where James worked. When he reached the corner, he became part of a small throng of people standing there.
Even through the crowd, Owen immediately spotted his mother. She was standing next to the long-haired guy he remembered who had taken up her attention at the party.
“Mom?” he called.
“Owen?” she answered, seeming surprised to see him.
“You told me that you’d be here, remember? That there was some problem at James’s office.”
His mother grimaced, her tell that she was about to lie. Maybe not a complete untruth, but Owen knew she wouldn’t share everything she knew.
“I’m sure it’s all going to be fine.” Then, as if she had just remembered where he’d come from, she said, “What did the doctor say?”
“He said I’m in the program. He wants me to start the chemo as soon as possible. Like tomorrow, even.”
It was almost like a switch had been flipped in her. His mother pulled him into her embrace. “That’s wonderful news.”
When she released him, the man beside her extended his gloved hand. “Hey, Owen. I’m Reid Warwick, a friend of . . . of James.”
Owen shook Reid’s hand with his own gloved one. As he did, he asked his mother, “What did they tell you about James?”
“Nothing yet. They told Reid that there was apparently some type of robbery or something in James’s office. Unfortunately, James is not answering his phone, but I know he was in DC last night, and Reid hasn’t heard from him either, so I just assume he’s still in transit. His phone must be dead, and all this breakin stuff has nothing to do with him. Anyway, a police detective said he’ll be down to talk to me soon. Of course, he said that nearly a half hour ago. I’m starting to freeze out here.”
A man was approaching. By the swagger in his step, Owen knew he was a cop even before he saw the badge dangling from a chain around his neck.
12
Gabriel found this to be the toughest part of the job. Breaking the news of a loved one’s death was always difficult, but in a murder, it was also the beginning of the interrogation.