by Willow Rose
I turn to face him. We’re standing really close now, and I can almost feel his breath on my face. He smells good, and I like being close to him. I miss being close to someone I don’t fear.
“He was there at Sandra Mulcahey’s house right before she died too. I saw a message where he wrote that he would stop by for coffee. I thought he had an affair with her…that maybe she killed herself because he wouldn’t leave me and marry her or something like that, but now this thing happened with Ted, and I don’t know what to think anymore.”
Frank closes his eyes briefly. “So, wait a minute. You’re telling me that Ryan was in Sandra Mulcahey’s house right before she killed herself? And he was there on the night that Ted killed himself?”
I take a deep breath. It feels good to share this information with someone and not be alone with it anymore. But only for a few seconds. Then I am filled with guilt. I feel like I have just terribly betrayed my husband.
“Does the OSI know this?” Frank says.
I shake my head and cry. “I can’t get myself to…”
He grabs me by the shoulders and looks into my eyes. “You need to tell them, Laurie. You need to go down there and tell them what you know.”
I bite my cheek. I know he is right, but it still pains me so much. “What if I’m wrong? What if it is just a coincidence? What if it just happened twice? Lightning can sometimes strike the same place several times. I read of a guy who was struck by lightning twelve times and survived all of them. Coincidences happen, even odd ones.”
He shrugs. “That’s your defense for him? This is what you’ve been telling yourself? Tell me this, has Ryan been violent with you? And tell me the truth. I saw the way he looked at you that day when he came home. Has he hurt you? What about the kids?”
I swallow. He’s getting a little too close for comfort now. I look away and am about to grab my coffee cup when he pulls my shoulder and forces me to look at him.
“Laurie, tell me the truth here. Has Ryan been violent with you since he came back?”
I look up, and our eyes meet. Frank doesn’t need my answer anymore. He knows. He pulls back, cupping his mouth.
“Oh, dear Lord, Laurie. I thought something was off between you guys, but this…you have to go to the Office of Special Investigations, the OSI. You can’t live like this. Promise me you’ll talk to them. Promise me.”
Chapter 23
I promise him, even though I’m not sure I’m going to keep it. When Frank leaves, I rush to the kitchen to clean up after breakfast. I think about what I’d say to the investigators. They’ll ask me why I didn’t tell them anything earlier. What is my excuse? I can’t come up with one that sounds plausible. Will it be enough if I explain I wanted to protect my husband? That I still don’t know if it is all just a coincidence? What am I going to say? They don’t even think there’s been a crime committed. And maybe there hasn’t. Maybe I’m just making things up in my mind.
Frank is a forensic technician. He knows what he’s doing. He told you that Ted didn’t die by hanging. It doesn’t look like suicide.
“Then why are they calling it suicide? Why does the OSI claim it is?” I ask into the empty kitchen. Only Rosie is with me, and she doesn’t even seem to care. “Maybe Frank is the one who is wrong? He could make mistakes, too, right?”
“Who could make mistakes?”
I almost drop the bowl I am holding between my hands as I hear Ryan’s voice behind me. I turn to see him. He is smiling. He grabs a grape from the counter and eats it, chewing with his mouth open.
“You scared me,” I say.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Who were you talking to?”
He looks around like he’s expecting to find someone.
I smile nervously. “Just Rosie. We like to have a little chat now and then.”
He grins. “You’re talking to the dog now?”
“She’s the only company I have all day,” I say.
“That’s a little sad,” he says.
“How did it go at the doctor’s?” I ask. “You look happy. Was it good news?”
He smiles widely. “I got it—the old all-clear. I’m ready to get back to work again. I’ll start Monday.”
I gasp happily. “That’s awesome news, honey. You’ve worked so hard for this.”
He grabs another grape and pops it into his mouth. “Yup. Gonna be good to get back in the saddle, you know?”
I nod and put the bowl back on the counter.
“As a matter of fact, I think I’ll go for a run,” he continues. “I need to get in better shape to keep up with the others come Monday.”
He leaves to get dressed for his run, and I continue to put away plates, emptying the dishwasher when I see the two cups sitting on the counter next to me. I stare at them, then wonder if Ryan saw them. I pray he didn’t. Maybe he was too happy to notice.
I grab both cups and put them in the dishwasher, then close it up as Ryan returns. “Say, where is my shirt? The white one I always run in?”
“Ah, I haven’t had time to wash,” I say. “I’ll do it later. Can you maybe wear another one?”
He pauses, then tilts his head slightly to the side. “You haven’t had time to do laundry? Don’t you usually do the laundry in the morning after the kids leave?”
“Y-yes.”
He frowns, still smiling, but the smile is stiffening slightly. “So, please tell me, what have you been so busy with all morning that you didn’t have time to do the laundry? And that you aren’t cleaning up after breakfast till now?”
I stare at him and feel the blood leave my face. I don’t know what to say to him. I realize now that he could have seen those two cups; he probably did, and now he’s waiting to see if I’ll lie to him.
“Vera stopped by,” I said. “Just for coffee.”
“Vera, huh?”
“Yes, Vera. I know you don’t like me seeing her, but she needed my advice on something with a boy she met.”
The lie is so thick; I fear he’ll see straight through it.
“That’s strange,” he says.
“What is?” There’s a tremor in my voice, and I worry he’ll hear it. Sweat is springing to my forehead, and I can’t hold my hands still.
“Well, first of all, you just said you had only been talking to Rosie all day. And second, I saw Vera an hour ago when I stopped by to tell the others the great news that I’ll be back next week.”
I look away and feel his eyes on me. It’s like they’re burning on my skin.
“Well, she was only here briefly.”
I close the dishwasher, then walk past him, holding my breath. I can feel his eyes are on me as I walk up the stairs. A few minutes later, I hear the front door slam shut, and I look out the window from upstairs to see him running down the street, taking long, determined, and—what seems to me like—aggressive strides.
“You need to tell the OSI.”
Frank’s words keep ringing in my ears as I put the laundry in the washer and turn it on. My heart is beating fast with fear and worry. I know he’s right; I’m just not quite sure what will happen afterward. Will Ryan realize I’m the one who told them? Do I need to get away? I don’t want to have to take the kids out of their familiar surroundings and go into hiding. Because that will be the result, won’t it? I’ll have to hide from him. And then what when he finds me?
Will he make it look like I killed myself when he murders me?
Will the kids have to grow up alone with a father who’s a murderer?
I am spinning out of control, and I know it. I am losing my grip and allowing my active imagination to run away with me. I know this, but I can’t stop it.
He’ll tell them I am crazy, that I was slowly losing my mind. He saw it coming long before it happened. That there was nothing anyone could have done. I was depressed.
I can even hear him saying the words to my family and my children. And they believe him. Of course, they do. Ryan can be very persuasive when he wants to.
&n
bsp; I shake my head and fold the towels I had left in the dryer from the day before when I hear the door slam shut and hear him enter the house. He is panting heavily, and so am I as I wonder how this is ever going to end well.
Chapter 24
It takes me a week to get the courage to go to the U.S. Air Force Office of Special Investigations. It’s the federal law enforcement and counterintelligence agency for the United States Air Force and United States Space Force. This is where they investigate criminal activities that happen on base.
But even on the day I finally decide to go, I keep losing my nerve. I turn the car around at least three times and am on my way back home, but eventually, I end up parking outside the tall beige building. I take a few deep breaths, telling myself it’s the right thing to do, that I am not going to destroy my family, even though I know that’s exactly what will happen. I say this over and over again and walk inside and ask to speak to Investigator Rick Thibodeau. I remember him from when Sandra died, and I like him. I have a feeling he will understand my story and forgive me for not coming in earlier.
Rick Thibodeau comes out to greet me. He’s a tall man with light blue eyes, who looks like he works out a lot, which he probably does. He’s also very young, and I wonder if he has solved many cases if any. I worry that it’s not often these people are involved in murder investigations.
“Mrs. Davis?” he says and holds out his hand. I shake it nervously. “I’m surprised to see you here? How can I help you?”
“I’d like to talk to you somewhere private,” I say. “It’s kind of a delicate matter.”
He smiles curiously. “Of course. No problem. Come with me.”
We walk down a hallway, and as we pass other men in uniforms, I lower my eyes, worrying they might be friends with Ryan. There are only about fifteen-thousand people on base, and only around four-thousand of those are active military personnel; the rest are contractors or medical personnel, or children and spouses, like me.
Rick takes me into an office and closes the door, then points at a chair.
“Go ahead.”
I sit down. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I am terrified and want to run away, but it’s too late now. I have to do this. I have to get it off my chest, even though it’ll cost me dearly. Frank convinced me to let Vera in on it as well, so I have. I told her everything during a lunch this past week. She too encouraged me to go to the OSI, and to be honest, it was probably her words that finally made me go.
“You at least have to do it for your own conscience. You can’t live with yourself knowing this. What if he is a murderer? What if he killed those two people? Can you live with him, knowing he got away with it? Knowing he is still free because of you? Because you didn’t tell?”
Of course, I can’t. Any way I look at it, this is the only solution that makes any sense even if it hurts. Even if it is devastating to go behind my husband’s back like this. I feel like I am betraying him. It’s the worst feeling in the world.
“Coffee?” Rick Thibodeau asks, and I shake my head. I’ve had three cups already while gathering my courage, and it’s barely ten o’clock. My heart is pounding so fast in my chest, and I don’t know if it’s because of where I am and what I am about to do or the caffeine. It might be a little bit of both.
Ryan is at work, so he won’t worry where I am, which I am pleased about. We haven’t been doing well lately. There’s this tension between us that is very uncomfortable. I’ve been avoiding him at the house, making sure to keep myself occupied with chores, and I have spent a lot of time in the laundry room lately. But I can’t avoid him constantly. And when I do spend time with him, I feel so awkward, and he senses it. He can sense something is off. He’s being extremely suspicious of me and keeps asking me where I have been and with whom. Even when I tell him the truth, I feel like I’m lying. He looks at me as though I am, as though he doesn’t believe a word I tell him. So, I try to talk as little as possible to him, and that makes him even more suspicious of me. Just the day before, he asked me what was wrong with me.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just tired.”
“You’re acting weird.”
The thing is, he’s right. I am acting weird, but I don’t know how not to anymore. I don’t remember how to act normal around him. The more I think about it, the worse it gets. It’s like this circle that I can’t escape. I just can’t relax around him enough to seem normal.
Luckily, getting back to work has given him other things to think about, and I am off the hook, at least until he gets back later in the day. Tonight, he will ask me what I have been doing all day, and I am ready to tell him. I have a list in my mind of things I have done that won’t arouse any suspicion—things he will approve of and hopefully believe. I don’t like to lie to him, though. But lying has become my life now. I feel like it’s all I do. I don’t like how good I am becoming at it.
“You don’t mind if I have a cup, then?” Rick Thibodeau asks, and I shake my head again.
“Of course not.”
He leaves and comes back with a cup in his hand. He sits down across from me. “So, what can I do for you, Mrs. Davis?”
“It’s about Sandra…I mean Mrs. Mulcahey,” I say. I look down at my hands, and they’re trembling. I keep them clasped together in my lap, so he won’t see.
He nods and sips his coffee.
“What about her?”
“I…I fear it might not have been suicide.”
Rick Thibodeau lifts his eyebrows and leans forward, folding his hands on the desk. “And just what makes you say that?”
I exhale deeply. This is it; this is the moment. There’s no turning back now. “My husband…he was with her right before she died.”
Rick Thibodeau nods. “And?”
“Well, he met with her right before she died. I read a message from him on Facebook, where he told her he’d stop by.”
“Okay,” Rick Thibodeau says. “I can understand from your perspective how that seems suspicious, and maybe it was, maybe they were having an affair, but how does that involve me or the OSI?”
I am shifting in my seat, unable to sit still. “Well…the thing is, he was there when Ted Kenopensky died too. Right before he was found hanging.”
Rick Thibodeau grabs the cup, then slurps his coffee while watching me intently. He puts the cup down slowly like he has all the time in the world.
“I see. And this is what you came here to tell me?”
“Yes.”
He nods again, moving slowly. He grabs his cup, then asks before he takes another long sip, “And just how are things in your marriage, Mrs. Davis?”
Startled at this, I frown.
“What do you mean?”
“Are things good? Are you happy together?”
“I don’t see how that has anything to do with…”
“Oh, I think it has everything to do with that. Why else would you come here to incriminate your husband?”
I can feel my face flushing. What is this? Do I need to defend myself now?
“Listen,” I say. “I don’t find this especially pleasant, and I certainly take no joy in saying these things. But no matter what happened, the fact is, he saw Ted hanging in the living room, and he didn’t do anything. He didn’t even call the security forces. Who does that? Who sees a guy, a good friend, dangling from the ceiling and doesn’t tell anyone, not even his wife? Does that not seem suspicious to you? I can’t explain why he would do that unless he has something to hide.”
Rick Thibodeau exhales, then leans back in his chair. “You’re forgetting something here. Your husband has been to war, Mrs. Davis. He has seen death up close before. He might have panicked when seeing Ted Kenopensky; he might have been scared to death, and it might have ripped up some bad memories in him, seeing his friend like that. Maybe he’s afraid of what he might do to himself. Did you ever think about that? There are many reasons why he would do just what he did. And maybe, just maybe he was only drinking coffee with his good female
friend, Sandra. Maybe they were even talking about stuff they experienced in the war that could lead to her committing suicide. Or maybe it was an affair gone wrong. Sad as it may be for your marriage, I don’t see anything suspicious, and either way, both cases were deemed suicides. There’s nothing more to it, Mrs. Davis. No active murder investigation. Just tragic suicides, which we, unfortunately, see way too often. Do you know how many soldiers kill themselves?”
I shake my head, feeling like a child at the principal’s office. Rick Thibodeau seems annoyed with me now.
“No.”
“Twenty-two veterans per day, one every sixty-five minutes. That’s a lot.”
He sighs and leans back in his chair. “Now, I don’t know what’s going on at home, in your marriage, or why you feel the need to hurt your husband. But I suggest you put your energy into saving your marriage instead of running to me with accusations against your husband. I think you’re just mad at him, and that’s why you’re busy claiming these things. I have nothing here telling me anyone was murdered or even a crime committed. I am sorry, but I can’t really help you.”
I feel defeated. I wonder for a second if I should tell him about what Frank has said, about how Ted’s death didn’t look like suicide, but then I decide against it. He’ll ask me how I know this, and I’ll only compromise Frank, and I promised not to tell anyone. I have nothing. I realize I am not getting anywhere with this guy, then get up, fuming with anger. If there is one thing I can’t stand, it’s being talked down to.
“This was a mistake,” I say, then leave while shaking my head, once again reminded of what my mother always used to say:
If you want anything done in this world, you have to do it yourself.
Chapter 25
I tiptoe around Ryan for yet another two days, making sure I don’t anger him or draw any suspicion to myself before Vera and Frank both come over for lunch. Frank says he has news to share with us. Vera is on a lunch break and decides to stop by and eat with us. I make them sandwiches, and we eat them in our kitchen. I tell them about my visit to the OSI, and how investigator Rick Thibodeau had brushed me off.
