A Good Marriage

by Kimberly McCreight

  “I should be going anyway.” I stood. “Thank you for your time. Can I be back in touch if I have other questions?”

  “Yes. Of course,” Maude said. “What’ll be next exactly?”

  “My first priority is getting Zach out of Rikers on bail. And that’s really about some legal technicalities at the moment. After that, assuming Zach is charged with murder, we’ll start factfinding, talking to witnesses. We might need your help with that.”

  “Yes, definitely. Would it be okay if I also checked back in to get an update? Under the circumstances, the party—I guess we feel responsible, in a way. Especially, with Case … Do you have a card?”

  “Of course,” I said, digging for one. But there weren’t any in my bag. I’d been so distracted after finding the earring that I’d left them—and God knows what else important—at home. “I don’t have one on me. You can reach me on my cell, the number I called you from.” But from the way Maude was looking at me, she wanted something more than just that. Maybe she didn’t believe I was who I claimed to be. “I can text you my other contact information if you want?”

  “That would be great,” Maude said.

  I scrolled through my contacts to the appropriately vague “New Office” one I’d created right before I started at Young & Crane, and sent the firm address and my direct line.

  “You can check in with me anytime,” I said, though Maude seemed so relieved to have my contact information, I wished I hadn’t given it to her. I moved toward the door. “Thank you for your time.”

  It was nearly four o’clock when I stopped in front of a deli at the corner of Seventh Avenue and Flatbush near the entrance to the Q train. I quickly scanned the newspaper racks for the New York Post or the Daily News, the perennial bellwethers for the city’s most tawdry news. A group of rich Park Slope parents, a sex party, and one gorgeous dead mother was a tabloid trifecta. Sooner or later “Key Party Killing” or “Park Slope Perverts” would surely be emblazoned across their covers. But today they were dedicated to a corruption scandal at the MTA, something about hundreds of thousands of dollars in overtime paid to a single driver.

  I felt light-headed suddenly. The heat, the sleep deprivation, the emotional drain of the night before. I also hadn’t eaten all day. I rested a hand on the doorway as I made my way into the deli.

  After a minute of aimless browsing, I approached the counter with a Diet Coke, a pack of M&M’s, Mike and Ikes, and Twizzlers.

  “I hope you won’t eat this all today,” the friendly man behind the counter said, shaking his head gravely. “So much sugar is no good.”

  “Of course not,” I said, though I planned on doing just that the second I hit the sidewalk.

  He was getting my change when I noticed a box of matchbooks next to the register. Enid’s. I pulled one out, my heart picking up speed.

  “Where did you get these?” I asked.

  Here was an alternate theory for the case against Sam. Maybe he hadn’t been off drinking during the day yesterday, after all. This particular deli was more than twenty blocks from our fourth-floor walk-up, and Sam wasn’t much for Center Slope—too many bankers and five-dollar lattes—so I didn’t think he’d gotten the matches there specifically. But if that deli had them, maybe others did, too. And if I was wrong about him drinking at Enid’s, maybe I was jumping to the wrong conclusion about the earring, too. Maybe he was being a Good Samaritan after all? Maybe it had even gotten accidentally dropped into his bag. Why hadn’t this totally plausible explanation occurred to me before? After all, New York City was a crowded place. Who knew how many other possibilities I was not considering?

  “Get what?” The man eyed me over the top of his reading glasses.

  “These matches,” I said, gripping a pack. “This place is in Greenpoint, isn’t it?”

  “Closed down. Twenty years it was in business.” He shook his head in disgust. “Now the cigarette distributor gives them out for free.”

  Grand Jury Testimony

  DETECTIVE ROBERT MENDEZ,

  called as a witness the 7th of July and was examined and testified as follows:

  EXAMINATION

  BY MS. WALLACE:

  Q: Good morning, Detective Mendez.

  A: Morning.

  Q: Were you at 597 Montgomery Place on the night of July 2nd?

  A: Yes.

  Q: What did you do after you arrived at the scene?

  A: I approached Mr. Grayson and asked him to step outside with me in order to give the crime scene unit detectives room to work. I also thought Mr. Grayson would be more comfortable that way. Generally, it’s best to have family members away from a scene like that.

  Q: And by a “scene like that,” what do you mean?

  A: The condition of the body—of Mr. Grayson’s wife. She had very traumatic injuries. There was a great deal of blood.

  Q: Did Mr. Grayson accompany you outside?

  A: Not at that time.

  Q: Why?

  A: He refused.

  Q: Why?

  A: It wasn’t clear.

  Q: Did he say he didn’t want to leave his wife?

  A: No. He didn’t say anything specifically about her.

  Q: Do you recall anything he did say?

  A: He was more generally defensive and argumentative. He kept asking why he needed to go anywhere. I think he said it was his f-ing house, which seemed strange under the circumstances.

  Q: Under what circumstances?

  A: I mean, his wife was dead. The tone seemed off.

  Q: Can you explain what you mean by “off”?

  A: I mean he seemed more angry than upset.

  Q: Did he seem angry the whole time you were there?

  A: Yes.

  Q: At any point did he seem sad or tearful?

  A: No. I didn’t see anything like that.

  Q: Did you see any blood on Mr. Grayson’s person? On his clothing, his hands? Anywhere?

  A: Only on the soles of his shoes.

  Q: Would it have been possible for him to have touched his wife to attempt CPR and not get blood on himself?

  A: I don’t see how.

  Q: Was there any other indication that he had attempted to revive his wife?

  A: Not that I am aware of.

  Q: But if he’d murdered his wife, wouldn’t he also have blood on him?

  A: Yes. We believe he changed his clothes and disposed of them prior to our arrival on the scene.

  Q: Have you located those clothes?

  A: Not yet. But Park Slope is full of garbage cans.

  Q: Did you ask Mr. Grayson about his whereabouts at the time of his wife’s murder?

  A: He said he found his wife when he got home from taking a walk on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade.

  Q: Did you find that response credible?

  A: No.

  Q: Why not?

  A: I didn’t believe he would go out walking all the way over there at that time of night. And Mr. Grayson claimed he’d walked home from Brooklyn Heights. That’s a couple miles from Park Slope.

  Q: Were there other things that made you suspect Mr. Grayson had murdered his wife?

  A: Sure, there were no signs of a break-in, it was his golf club near her body. He wasn’t emotional either. His wife was dead.

  Q: Did you eventually get Mr. Grayson to move outside?

  A: Only after he struck one of the uniformed officers in the face and was placed under arrest.

  Amanda

  THREE DAYS BEFORE THE PARTY

  “Oh, here she is now. Hold on!” Sarah barked into the phone as Amanda stepped off the elevator. She was standing at the reception desk, gripping the handset with dramatic irritation. Sarah leaned over and punched a button on the console. “Thank God you’re here. This man apparently must speak with you.”

  Amanda’s chest seized.

  “Um, who is it?” She tried to sound casual, but sweat had sprung up at the back of her neck.

  “The jerk wouldn’t even tell me his name. Sounds
like he’s afraid I’m screening your calls.” Sarah’s face brightened mischievously. “I could hang up if you want me to. I would very much like to.”

  “No, no, don’t hang up,” Amanda said. What if her dad was finally going to demand the money he was after? It could be her chance to be done with him. Amanda paid the household bills. She could write a check without Zach ever needing to know. “I’ll take it. In my office.”

  “Ugh.” Sarah frowned at her. “I love you, Mandy, but sometimes you really are too accommodating.”

  Mandy. Sarah had never called Amanda that before, and it meant far more to Amanda than it should have. She knew that. But it was yet more proof they were real friends. She couldn’t let this ugliness with her dad turn everything good in her life inside out.

  It needed to stop now.

  “Thank you, Sarah!” Amanda called, smiling back one last time before disappearing into her office and closing the door. She took a deep breath, bracing herself against her desk as she picked up the phone. “This is Amanda Grayson.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Grayson. This is Teddy Buckley.”

  The voice on the other end sounded young, far too young to be Daddy, even trying to disguise himself.

  “Mrs. Grayson?” The man sounded concerned. “Are you there?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m here,” Amanda said. And that was all she was going to say. She didn’t know any Teddy Buckley.

  “I’ve been reviewing Hope First Initiative’s ledger in advance of the board meeting, and there are some important matters I need to discuss with you.”

  “What matters? Who are you?”

  “Your accountant?” Teddy Buckley’s voice lifted at the end, like it was a question. “With PricewaterhouseCoopers?”

  “Oh,” Amanda said. “Sarah, the woman you were just speaking to, she’s the assistant director. She handles the budget.”

  “Mrs. Grayson, I need to speak with you personally,” Teddy Buckley said, more insistent now. “And this really is rather urgent. I’ve tried speaking with your husband, but …”

  “Sarah,” Amanda repeated. “She’s in charge of the finances.”

  “As principal, I’ll need to speak with you,” he pressed. “How about your office, tomorrow morning at eight a.m.?”

  If she didn’t want to meet with this accountant, she didn’t have to. No matter what they scheduled.

  “Sure, yes, of course,” Amanda said, her voice regaining the refinement she’d spent years cultivating. “Tomorrow at eight a.m. would be lovely.” Lovely was a good word, though probably too much under the circumstances.

  “Uh, okay, great,” Teddy said skeptically. “See you then. Okay, bye.”

  As if on cue, Sarah appeared in Amanda’s office door as soon as she hung up.

  “Everything okay?”

  “I’m not sure. That was the accountant. He was very insistent,” Amanda said. “But he wouldn’t even tell me why. We have to meet in person, apparently.”

  Sarah narrowed her eyes. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose,” Amanda said. “Maybe I should send you to the meeting in my place.”

  “I do love being your bad cop,” Sarah said, her eyes shining with delight. “Provided you and Zach both come to Kerry’s birthday dinner tonight.”

  Amanda smiled. “We wouldn’t miss it. It sounds lovely.”

  Lovely was a better word now. Still a bit much, maybe, but Sarah looked pleased.

  Sarah checked her watch. “And now I’ve got to scoot, if that’s okay with you, boss? I’ve got a cake to bake and a house to scrub. My place, eight p.m.?” She motioned toward her own eyes, then back at Amanda. “And I’ll be looking for the both of you.”

  Amanda spent more than forty minutes trying to find the perfect gift for Kerry at the Park Slope Spirit Shoppe. At least Kerry was a collector of whiskey and wine, which made him easier to shop for than Zach. Even after all these years, Amanda couldn’t say with any genuine certainty what her husband would actually enjoy as a gift. The only thing he seemed to truly derive pleasure from was his work.

  Amanda caught sight of one particularly pricey bottle of whiskey from Cork on a high shelf. Wasn’t that the area of Ireland that Kerry’s family was from? He’d mentioned it once; Amanda was almost certain he had. She looked closer. It was a very expensive bottle, though, and sometimes expensive gifts made people uncomfortable. Amanda had once given a bracelet as a birthday gift to a woman in her Palo Alto tennis group. She’d selected it because it was the woman’s—Pam was her name—favorite color: blue. Amanda hadn’t thought of the cost until Pam, quite forcefully, said that she couldn’t possibly accept “that kind of gift.” After that, Pam avoided Amanda.

  But the whiskey was meant as a real thank-you for all of Kerry’s help, which ran the gamut from the small but inconvenient—getting Case’s cards down late on a Sunday—to the downright selfless—chasing off that huge, sick-looking raccoon Case had been so scared might die right there in their backyard between the already-dead lilac bushes. The gift would be a thank-you to Kerry, and an apology for Zach’s absence, though it would surely be only Sarah who was offended by that. Kerry had never said anything pointed about Amanda’s marriage or asked accusingly where Zach was. For his part, Sebe had probably never even noticed Zach’s absence. That’s how men were about such personal details: vaguely disinterested. Especially if those details hinted at any sort of problem. Honestly, sometimes it did make life much easier.

  Amanda was still contemplating whether to buy the whiskey when she got a text from Sarah: Can’t wait to see Zach, finally! Amanda’s eyes snapped up from the text to the absurdly expensive whiskey.

  “I’ll take it, please,” she said to the store clerk, who’d been ogling her since she’d walked in. “Could you wrap it up?”

  KRELL INDUSTRIES

  CONFIDENTIAL MEMORANDUM NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION

  Attorney-Client Work Product

  Privileged & Confidential

  June 29

  To: Brooklyn Country Day Board of Directors

  From: Krell Industries

  Subject: Data Breach & Cyber Incident Investigation—Critical Event Report

  FPP from Subject Family 0006 contacted the office today. The Junior Assigned Investigator (JAI) who spoke with FPP reported her as “extremely agitated.” She wanted someone to give her additional information about the pornographic material emailed to her with the usual request for cash transfer. FPP requested that all such offensive material be removed from her computer and placed on a zip drive. JAI offered to refer her to companies that do such assessments, but indicated that Krell was not available to assist with her personal situation beyond evaluating the consequences of the hacking.

  FPP of Subject Family 0006 was adamant that Brooklyn Country Day and Krell should be responsible for a forensic analysis to determine whether the pornographic material had, in fact, been installed on the family computer by Subject Perpetrator (SP) rather than found there. There is no reason to believe that SP has ever downloaded files onto a Subject Family computer. SP exploits preexisting downloads or other data. The pornographic material belongs to someone in Subject Family 0006. FPP was informed of these facts.

  FPP then threatened legal action against Brooklyn Country Day, which, sustainable or not, could cause reputational damage. In order to avoid legal action, it is our recommendation that Krell conduct the requested forensic analysis of Subject Family 0006 computer.

  Lizzie

  JULY 9, THURSDAY

  The room assigned for Zach’s writ hearing at the Brooklyn Criminal Courthouse lacked the historic grandeur of the Manhattan state or federal courthouses. But it was at least on a much higher floor than arraignments had been, and was significantly larger, which made it seem more dignified.

  Wendy Wallace hadn’t arrived, as far as I could tell. The empty prosecution table sat there expectantly, and there were only a handful of people in the gallery. But then, I didn’t know what Wendy Wallace looked like. I’d start
ed to do more research on her, but stopped once I’d found the article that described her as bloodthirsty. Not all preparation was good preparation.

  Paul wasn’t there yet either. Despite the short notice—the emergency writ hearing had been scheduled through the managing attorney’s office late the evening before—Paul had assured me with this annoying munificence that he would be in attendance. Like I needed his help. I did not. To the extent my hesitancy about taking Zach’s case had been about my skills, I’d only been worried about the intricacies of a fast-moving, full-blown murder trial. This writ hearing was a straightforward legal argument, an area in which I had always excelled. The carefully reasoned written positions, the intellectual clarity, the comforting presence of a well-informed judge—I could win a legal argument, any legal argument.

  Maybe even this one, though on its face it was a loser. I wasn’t giving up, though. Our brief was as good as it possibly could be, our positions reasonably strong. Plus, justice was on our side: Zach didn’t belong in Rikers for accidentally elbowing an officer. And while I still would have preferred not to be representing him in the first place, after reading Amanda’s most recent journal with all those details about someone following her, I was at least more convinced than ever of his innocence.

  I was even feeling better about Sam and that stupid earring. I had jumped too fast to the most damning possible conclusion; that was obvious to me now. And yes, years of dealing with Sam’s bad behavior was largely to blame for all my worst-case scenarios. But not entirely. The weight of my own baggage had also been taking its toll. Finding that cache of matches at the deli really had put things in perspective. And then there was Sam, up already before me this morning, proving once again—all hope was not lost.

  “What time is it?” I’d asked, worrying I’d somehow overslept for court. Sam was never up before me.

  “Almost six,” he’d said. “I’m headed out for a run.”