by Jason Starr
Then I recognized the guy—it was Maria’s friend Steve from Westchester. Why was Steve here?
I watched as they continued to talk. They both had intense expressions, like they were talking about something serious. I’d always been aware of the sexual tension between Maria and Steve, and they were exes. Was it possible they were having an affair or had been having an affair for years? Maria had always insisted that they were “just friends,” but maybe I’d missed the obvious signs. I knew they spoke on the phone frequently, and texted and emailed. Some might even say this qualified as having an emotional affair, so why couldn’t it have escalated to something physical? I recalled the possibly hypocritical advice Steve had given me about how I should never cheat on Maria. In retrospect, it all made sense—why would he want me to cheat on and potentially hurt the woman he was in love with?
Of course, I knew I was jumping to a lot of conclusions, but my mind was spinning.
I felt weird watching them and was about to turn and leave when Maria saw me.
Did I see a flash of panic in her expression? Seemed like it. Then she smiled and motioned for me to join them.
“Hey, what a surprise,” Maria said, and then she kissed me.
“Hey,” I said to Steve.
“What’re you doing here?” Steve asked.
“I was about to ask you that same question,” I said.
Maria cut in with, “Steve just stopped by to visit me. He was running some errands in the city today.”
“Looks like we had the same idea, then,” I said, glancing at Steve.
Steve didn’t say anything, but he looked like he was reining in emotion.
“Why don’t we all sit down?” Maria suggested,
“It’s okay,” Steve said, “I should get going. I have to take the kids to swimming practice later. I’ll talk to you soon, sweetie.”
He kissed Maria on the cheek, then left the office without making eye contact with me.
“Sweetie?” I said to Maria.
“Oh, stop it.” She saw I was serious. “Come on, you don’t really think something’s going on with me and Steve, do you?”
“Is there?” I asked.
“No, of course not. He was telling me about his marriage, that’s all. He and Kathy are thinking about getting divorced and he wanted a woman’s perspective. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m not looking at you any way,” I said.
“I can’t believe you don’t believe me. Me and Steve? Seriously?”
“I never said I don’t believe you,” I said.
“Well, you’re implying it.”
“How am I implying it?”
We stared at each other for a few seconds, not blinking.
“So why did you come here anyway?” she said.
“Just to surprise you,” I said. “Thought you’d like to grab lunch with me.”
She smiled. “Actually, I’d like that a lot.”
We went around the corner and bought salads and ate on metal chairs in a public space nearby.
After some casual conversation, Maria said, “Okay, about Steve. He’s just upset that we’re still together, that’s all. When he heard about you in the news he felt protective of me and when I told him I wanted to work on my marriage, he was against the idea. So he came to talk to me.”
“It’s none of his business,” I said.
“I agree with you,” Maria said. “Actually, I was telling him that exact thing when you walked in. That’s why he acted that way when he saw you.”
Maria seemed sincere. I didn’t have any reason to think she wasn’t telling the truth.
“Sorry if I overreacted,” I said.
“Don’t be.” She held my hand. “I understand why you thought what you thought.”
“No, I definitely made an assumption and it’s frustrating … I mean, I thought we were beyond all this.”
“Beyond what?” she asked.
“The dysfunction,” I said. “Things were so bad with us for a long time, I think we can both acknowledge that. But I thought we’d gotten past the past. I thought things would be normal now.”
“They are normal,” she said. “They are.”
She let go of my hand and we continued eating our salads.
* * *
“I’m worried about Jonah,” I whispered.
I had just tucked him in and joined Maria on the couch.
“Don’t be,” Maria said. “He’s a happy kid.”
“It’s true, he seems happy, but I’m worried he’s holding stuff in. He does that sometimes.”
“He’s been through a lot the past couple of weeks,” Maria said. “He was so excited to see you when you came home, he’s probably just rebounding from that now.”
“I think we should consider getting him some therapy,” I said.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Maria said, sort of harshly. Then she said, “But if you’re in favor, I’m in favor, too. I know you’re more of a therapy fan than I am. By the way, I’m still open to going to marriage counseling if you want to. Actually, I think it would be a good idea.”
“I’ll try to check into it tomorrow,” I said.
Maria grabbed the remote. “Let’s watch something funny,” she said.
She turned on the TV, found Anchorman. It was toward the end of the movie and we watched the rest of it—Maria laughing occasionally, and me, distracted, remaining stone-faced.
When the movie ended, Maria peeked into Jonah’s room, then said, “Sound asleep,” and turned off his light.
“We should wake him up so he can brush his teeth,” I said.
“One missed brushing won’t kill him,” Maria said.
I didn’t remember her getting into bed. I must’ve already been asleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
WHEN MY PHONE alarm went off in the morning, I dreaded getting out of bed as I remembered that today was Anthony’s funeral.
Shawn, an acquaintance from A.A., had sent me a Facebook invite about it. Normally I would’ve wanted to be there to remember a good friend and support his family—I’d been his sponsor, after all—but I felt incredibly awkward. I’d been in denial about his death, hadn’t even thought about it as much as I should have. As far as I knew, the details of Anthony’s death were still unknown, but I couldn’t help feeling responsible. While I knew, rationally, that I hadn’t caused his death, that it could’ve happened on any case he was working on, or when he was a cop, this didn’t make me feel any better about it.
But, to hell with it, I was tired of being the guy who shirks responsibility and avoids situations just because they’re unpleasant. I’d been that guy for long enough.
I manned up and put on my darkest suit.
The funeral was on Long Island, in Smithtown; Shawn rented a Zip Car and drove me out there. Shawn was a young guy, about thirty, whom Anthony had sponsored. Shawn didn’t know, or didn’t seem to know, that Anthony had been technically working for me when he was killed, so I didn’t fill him in on this information.
Anthony hadn’t been religious, but his family was Catholic. Shawn and I viewed the body—I was impressed how the embalming had managed to make a murder victim appear peaceful—paid our respects to his family and friends. There were a few familiar faces from A.A.—Maggie and two guys whose names I didn’t know—but most of the attendees were total strangers. I did get a strong “cop vibe” from several people; not surprising given Anthony’s background at the NYPD. One cop-looking guy—stocky but not fat with thick gray hair and a gray mustache—seemed to be looking at me, as if he recognized me from somewhere. I told myself I was just being paranoid, or maybe we’d been at an A.A. meeting one time and I had forgotten meeting him.
Then I saw the gray-haired guy go over to Anthony’s sister and say something to her. I’d met his sister for the first time several minutes earlier when I’d told her how sorry I was for her loss.
Shawn and I weren’t planning to go to the cemetery.
“Wanna get going?” I asked him.
“Sure,” he said, “how ’bout ten minutes?”
I was chatting with Shawn and Maggie, sharing our favorite Anthony stories, when I heard:
“Jack Harper?”
Anthony’s sister had come over to me. Her eyes were reddish from crying, but she looked more angry than upset.
“Yes,” I said.
“I didn’t make the connection before when you came over,” she said. “Who invited you here?”
She was talking loud. Shawn and Maggie were overhearing us, and so were several other people nearby.
I didn’t think I’d ever felt more embarrassed and awkward.
“I read about it on Facebook,” I said. “I just wanted to be here to support—”
“If I wanted you here, I would’ve invited you myself!”
Her tone had gone from raised to full-blown screaming. Now more people, maybe the whole funeral home, were our audience.
“Sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean—”
“If it wasn’t for you, Anthony would still be alive.”
“That isn’t true—”
“How’s it not true?”
I hesitated, then said, “Because I—”
“He was my fucking brother, you asshole! Now he’s gone! He’s fucking gone!”
The gray-haired guy came over and pulled her away, then a few other people got between us.
I couldn’t leave the funeral home fast enough, and Shawn wanted to get away, too.
When we got back in the Zip Car, I was distracted by my thoughts and didn’t say anything. The scene at the funeral home—getting yelled at, with everyone watching—still felt surreal, like theater. I guess I was a little in shock.
Shawn, driving, didn’t say anything either until we were passing LaGuardia Airport, almost back in the city.
“Why didn’t you tell me Anthony was working for you?” He sounded like he was releasing pent-up anger, like he’d been trying to figure out how to bring this up with me since we’d left Smithtown.
“He wasn’t actually working for me,” I said.
“So you didn’t hire him?”
For some reason, I felt guilty.
“He was doing me a favor,” I said.
“Then why didn’t you tell me, man?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I didn’t think it was important.”
“You didn’t think it was important I know how my friend died?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “Come on, give me a break, man.”
Shawn maintained a serious glare for the rest of the trip.
When he dropped me off near my apartment in Manhattan, things were still awkward. When I got out of the car, he drove away without saying goodbye.
At home, I couldn’t shake my guilty feeling, like I’d done something wrong. Maybe it was because I’d been lying when I’d told Shawn that I’d told the police everything I knew. Actually, I hadn’t.
I still had about an hour before I had to pick up Jonah from school, so I sat on a bench in the garden of a church and did some searching on my phone. On our Verizon bill, I checked the numbers of calls and texts for the past couple of weeks, but nothing seemed unusual. Then I checked the recent history on our credit cards and Chase bank account. Nothing unusual there either.
At school pickup, a couple of Jonah’s friends and their moms were headed to 16 Handles for frozen yogurt. I asked Jonah if he wanted to go with them, but, still acting sullen and not himself, he said he just wanted to go home.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to go if you don’t feel like it,” I said, wanting him to know that I respected his emotions.
At home, I hung out with Jonah, watching TV.
From her office, Maria texted: stopping @ whole foods after work we need eggs?
I checked the fridge, saw we had an almost full carton of eggs.
Sent: No we’re good.
She replied, Okay, leaving in few. Be home half hour!
Back on the couch next to Jonah, he asked, “When can we see Return of the Jedi?”
“Soon,” I said.
It was great to see Jonah excited about something, getting his mojo back. Kids—they were so resilient.
A couple of minutes later, I remembered that there was one credit card account I hadn’t checked—a Discover Card that we rarely used.
I didn’t carry the card with me in my wallet. We had a filing cabinet in the hallway closet where we kept our important papers, documents, and correspondence. In the “credit card” file I found my card, which had expired about three years ago. I didn’t think I’d gotten a replacement card so maybe I’d deactivated the card and didn’t remember it. I was going to forget the whole thing, then I decided I’d call Discover to see if a new card had been sent to me.
I waited on hold for a while, and then the representative, a man with an Indian accent, picked up. I explained the situation and gave him my card number and name.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “but you’re no longer on this account.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The only name on the account is Maria Harper.”
“That’s my wife, but there has to be a mistake,” I said. “That account was in both our names.”
He asked me to hold. Then he returned and said, “Your name was removed from the account, sir. Maria Harper is the primary account holder and she removed you.”
This seemed off, but did it mean anything?
“Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?”
“No,” I said, “thank you so much.”
I figured I’d ask Maria about the account later, or sometime soon. Then I had another idea. Just because my name had been taken off the account didn’t mean I couldn’t log on.
On my phone, I went to Discover.com online and tried logging on with my old password. Sure enough, the account information appeared.
I was surprised to see that the card had been used actively. Since Maria paid the bills, I could also see how this had been easy for her to hide. I was shocked to see hotel bills, restaurant bills, and bills from stores like Victoria’s Secret and The Pink Pussycat, a sex shop in the West Village.
What the fuck? Had I accessed the wrong account? Was there some mistake?
I checked recent transactions—there were seven transactions listed, all within the past few weeks.
Six of the charges were for “Business Services,” and the other was for $159.96 at Bloomingdale’s.
Business Services? What the hell?
One of the “Business Services” charges was for $69. Four of the others were for $20. The others were for $10.
Wait, $69? The date of the charge, and the other charges, were from a few weeks ago, around the time I’d joined Discreet Hookups. Could it just be a coincidence?
I was too surprised, and had too much adrenaline pumping, to contemplate all of the implications. I went online and checked the transactions for the Visa card that I’d used for my Discreet Hookups membership, and sure enough there was a “Business Services” charge of $69, and additional charges from when I’d purchased credits.
Okay, so Maria had been on Discreet Hookups; but what did this mean? Did she go on to check up on me, to spy anonymously? But why had she kept that a secret, especially after I’d become a murder suspect?
The other charge at Bloomingdale’s didn’t seem significant.
Or was it?
I checked the Discover transactions again and saw that the transaction had occurred fourteen days ago.
The day Sophie Ward was murdered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MAYBE I WAS in deep denial, but I still didn’t want to jump to conclusions. I kept thinking, Maybe there’s some explanation for all of this, something I don’t understand. After all, less than a minute ago, I’d been convinced that I was paranoid about everything, and my opinions tended to change rapidly, especially lately.
I called Blooming
dale’s. It took a while before I could speak with the proper person, but she gave me all of the information I needed.
Next, I logged on to Discreet Hookups. All of my chats with “Fugitive_Red” were still there. In a Word file, I created a timeline of all of my chats.
“Hey.”
Maria was standing in the doorway to the bedroom. I immediately clicked away the file, returning to the home screen. I didn’t think she had seen.
“Hey, how are you?” I asked, trying to sound natural.
“What’re you doing?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Just, um, checking out some possible work leads.”
“Great,” she said. “How was the funeral?”
Odd question. How was any funeral?
“Sad. Bleak.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re glad you went. I bought a chicken and some sides. Are you hungry?”
“No,” I said. “I mean yes. Sounds great.”
During dinner, the focus was mainly on Jonah, which was fine with me. I had a lot on my mind and I felt way more comfortable talking to Jonah than Maria. I realized halfway through the meal that I wasn’t making enough eye contact with Maria. This was bad because I didn’t want her to think that anything was wrong, so I made a conscious effort to look at her.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“No, why?”
“You keep staring at me.”
“Oh, sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize.”
As I helped clear the table, I announced, “I think I’m going to hit an A.A. meeting.”
“Great.” Maria gave me a sexy look, biting on her lower lip a little. “I’ll help Jonah with his homework, then maybe we can rendezvous in bed later.”
She kissed me. Although my instinct was to pull back, I didn’t.
I wasn’t planning to go to A.A., though.
Instead, I cabbed it downtown to East 32nd Street, to Lawrence and Sophie’s townhouse. There was a For Sale sign in front from, you guessed it, Wolf Realty. I had to smile, though I wasn’t in a humorous mood. I walked up and down the block several times, taking pictures here and there with my iPhone. Then I returned to the townhouse and took some pics.
Back home, I went on Verizon’s website and tried to log on to Maria’s account. I thought it would take a while, or perhaps it would be impossible, to guess her password, but it turned out to be one I knew she used frequently. The log of her phone calls seemed to confirm that I was right about everything.
