The Other Mrs.(60)

This isn’t an exam but rather an interrogation.

“I thought we could finish our conversation,” he says. He looks more tired today than he did before, the last time I saw him, when he was already tired. His skin is raw from the winter weather, windblown and red. I think that it’s from all that time spent outdoors, watching the ferry come and go.

There have been more police than usual around the island, detectives from the mainland trying to step on Officer Berg’s toes. I wonder what he thinks of that. The last time there was a murder on the island it was 1985. It was gory and ghastly and still unsolved. Crimes against property are frequent; crimes against persons rare. Officer Berg doesn’t want to end up with another cold case when the investigation is through. He needs to find someone to pin this murder on.

“Which conversation is that?” I ask, as I set myself down on the swivel stool. It’s a decision I regret at once because Officer Berg stands two feet above me now. I’m forced to look up to him like a child.

He says, “The one we began in your car the other day,” and I feel a glimmer of hope for the first time in days because I now have the evidence on my phone to prove I didn’t argue with Morgan Baines the day Mr. Nilsson says I did. I was here at the clinic that day.

I say to Officer Berg, “I told you already, I didn’t know Morgan. We never spoke. Isn’t it possible that Mr. Nilsson is mistaken? He is getting on in years,” I remind him.

“Of course it’s possible, Dr. Foust,” he begins, but I stop him there. I’m not interested in his theories when I have proof.

“You told me that the incident between Morgan and me happened on December first. A Friday,” I say as I retrieve my cell phone from the pocket of my smock. I open the photos app and swipe across each image until I find the one I’m looking for.

“The thing is that on December first,” I say when I find it, “I was here at the clinic, working all day. I couldn’t have been with Morgan because I can’t be in two places at one time, can I?” I ask, my words rightfully smug.

I hand him my phone so he can see for himself what I’m talking about. The photograph of the clinic’s dry-erase calendar where Emma has written my name, scheduling me for a nine-hour shift on Friday, December first.

Officer Berg looks it over. There’s this moment of hesitation before the realization sets in. He gives in. He nods. He drops to the edge of the exam table, eyes locked on the photograph. He rubs at the deep trenches of his forehead, mouth tugging down at the corners into a frown.

I would feel sorry for him, if he wasn’t trying to pin Morgan’s murder on me.

“You’ve looked into her husband, of course,” I say, and only then do his eyes rise back up to mine, “and his ex-wife.”

“What makes you say that?” he asks. Either he’s a good liar or he seriously hasn’t considered that Jeffrey Baines killed his wife. I don’t know which I find more disconcerting.

“It just seems like that’s a good place to start. Domestic violence is a major cause of death for women these days, isn’t it, Officer?” I ask.

“More than half of women murdered die at the hands of a romantic partner, yes,” he confirms. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

“It is,” I say. “Isn’t that a good-enough reason to question her husband?”

“Mr. Baines has an alibi. He was out of the country, as you know, at the time of the murder. There’s proof of that, Dr. Foust. Video surveillance of Mr. Baines in Tokyo. His name on the airplane’s manifest the following day. Hotel records.”

“There are other ways,” I say, but he doesn’t take the bait. He says instead that in cases of domestic violence, quite often men fight with their fists while women are the first to reach for a weapon.

When I say nothing, he tells me, “Don’t you know, Doctor? Women aren’t always the victim. They can be the perpetrator as well. Though men are often stigmatized as wife beaters, it works both ways. In fact, new studies suggest that women initiate more than half the violence in volatile relationships. And jealousy is the cause of most homicides in the United States.”

I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.

“Anyway,” he says, “I didn’t come to talk about Jeffrey Baines, or his marriage. I came to talk about you, Dr. Foust.”

But I don’t want to talk about myself.

“Mr. Baines was married before,” I say, and he looks skeptically at me and tells me he knows. “Have you considered she might have done this? Jeffrey’s ex?”

“I have an idea,” he says. “How about if I ask the questions for a change, Dr. Foust, and you answer?”

“I’ve already answered your question,” I remind him. And besides, I, too, like Jeffrey, had an alibi at the time of Morgan’s death. I was at home with Will.

Officer Berg rises from the end of the exam table. “You were with a patient when I arrived this morning. I had a few minutes to visit with Emma at the front desk,” he tells me. “Emma used to go to school with my youngest. We go quite a bit back,” and he explains in his usual blathering way how Emma and his daughter, Amy, were friends for many years and that he and his wife were in turn friends with Emma’s mother and father.

He gets to the point. “I spoke to Emma while you were finishing up with your patient. I wanted to be sure I’d dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s, and it just so happened that I hadn’t. Because when I was speaking to Emma I saw for myself the same thing you just showed me. And I asked Emma about it, Dr. Foust. Just to be sure. Because we all make mistakes, don’t we?”