Fugitive Red

by Jason Starr

  “Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you, Jack. I know how much pressure you’ve been under lately and I certainly know about your history of bad decision-making. I know how bad you must feel for causing all of this tumult. But I’m willing to forgive and forget if you will.”

  She kissed me, sliding her tongue into my mouth.

  Then she pulled back and said, “Everything is so good with us now. We had a rough spot, but we got through it. Come on, think about all the positives. We have Jonah, we have each other, and we have money. Money was always such a big issue for us. We can make a down payment on an apartment, take a trip to wherever we want. How about Paris or Venice? That’s what we need—a fun, relaxing getaway. How about over Christmas? We can leave Jonah with a friend, go away for a week. Have romantic walks during the day and fuck all night. I know you want that, Jack.”

  She squatted in front of me and unbuckled my belt. When she unsnapped my jeans, I kneed her in the face. She toppled over onto her back.

  “Stay the fuck away from me,” I said.

  Although blood was dripping from her nose, she didn’t seem stunned. If anything, she seemed pleased.

  Maria, back on her knees, smiling now even though blood was dripping over her mouth, said, “You really think beating me up is going to help your situation?”

  “I didn’t beat you up.”

  “It sure as hell looks like you did. I’ll tell them that you snapped, called me all kinds of horrible names, and they’ll send you right back to Bellevue. And they might not let you out this time.”

  I hated that she was right.

  “I’ll tell them what you did,” I said. “I have evidence.”

  “What evidence? A credit card bill? A phone bill? You think that’ll actually prove anything?”

  “I’ll get more,” I said. “The cops’ll find more when I tell them where to look.”

  “They won’t believe you.” Maria was back on her feet now, blood dripping off her chin. “Face it, you’re not a reliable person, Jack. You never have been. You’re a violent alcoholic with an arrest record. You tried to kidnap your son from school.”

  “You’re just twisting it again,” I said. “You’re the insane one, not me.”

  “Everybody thinks that I’m a loving, devoted wife, a victim.”

  “You’re a fucking monster.”

  She came toward me. “You killed somebody, too, Jack.”

  “That was self-defense.”

  “Killing is killing,” she said. “Face it, you’re a violent man, Jack. You proved it tonight when you punched your poor, battered wife in the nose. With your police record and mental history, how will that look?” She was so close our noses were almost touching. “You liked listening to my confession. I could tell—it turned you on. Just like our chats turned you on, when you thought I was Fugitive Red. You have a dark, twisted, sadistic side, Jack. You try to hide it, but face it—you’re just like me.”

  “I’m nothing like you,” I said. “Thank fucking God.”

  I turned away from her and went toward the kitchen.

  Big mistake.

  I didn’t feel any pain.

  Just the impact on my head before everything went dark.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  THE PAIN HIT when I opened my eyes. My head hurt like hell. I felt dizzy and nauseous and had no idea where I was.

  Then I recognized the stove and refrigerator and realized I was lying on the kitchen floor. A burly uniformed cop was kneeling in front of me, asking questions I couldn’t understand.

  I tried to speak, but couldn’t find the words.

  “You’re okay,” the cop said, “but you have to stay still.”

  “Muh … muh,” I said.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Muh … muh … Maria,” I said.

  “Who’s Maria?”

  “My … w … wife. We’re is she?”

  “We’ll find your wife, okay?”

  I tried to get up, but he held me down.

  “Whoa, pal, you can’t move till EMS comes here and checks you out. But you’re conscious and talking—those are good signs.”

  I saw that Hector, the building’s super, was in the vestibule; he’d probably let the cop into the apartment.

  “Have you seen my wife?” I asked Hector.

  “The doorman saw her leaving,” he said. “She had blood on her so he called the cops.”

  “You have to find her,” I said to the officer. “She’s dangerous.”

  “Did your wife do this to you?”

  “Yes,” I said, “and she also killed a woman, Sophie Ward.”

  “The murder downtown,” he said.

  “Right,” I said. “She did it. I have evidence and … You have to call Detective Nick Barasco and let him know what’s going on.”

  “We’ll get to the bottom of it, don’t worry.”

  Then I had a thought that terrified me.

  “My son,” I said. “I have to get my son.”

  ” I tried to get up again, but he still wouldn’t let me.

  “Where’s your son?” the cop asked. “Is your son in the apartment?”

  “No … babysitter,” I managed to say. “Upstairs.”

  I told him Carly’s apartment number.

  “We’ll make sure he’s okay,” the cop said.

  “Was my wife alone when she left?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Hector said.

  “You have to check now,” I said to the cop. “Please.”

  “My partner’s in the lobby, and she’ll be up here any second with EMS. When she gets here I’ll have her check on your son, okay?”

  “Lemme call the babysitter at least.”

  “You have to stay still right now,” the cop said. “Moving can be dangerous until you get checked out.”

  “Can you call her?” I asked.

  The EMS workers arrived with the other police officer.

  “Can you go check on his son?” the male cop said to her.

  He told her the apartment number and she left. My pulse was pounding as I was imagining the worst—Maria had taken him somewhere. Or worse—maybe she’d killed him. Who knew what that woman was capable of?

  A few minutes later she returned and said, “Your son’s fine.”

  “Thank God,” I said. “But he can’t be alone. My wife can come and try to take him away.”

  “Okay, let’s just try to stay calm right now,” the cop said.

  “I’m telling you, she’s dangerous. You have to find her. Call Nick Barasco.”

  “Right now, you’re just gonna have to stay still and do what I tell you to do,” the cop said. “Is that understood?”

  Although I didn’t have any life-threatening issues, I was told that I’d probably suffered a concussion and had to go to the hospital for observation. I was able to leave the apartment by foot, walking alongside the cops and an EMS worker.

  In the lobby, some reporters and other news crew had arrived, and some residents of the building had assembled as well. A few reporters shouted questions, but I ignored them. It was humiliating and I tried to look straight ahead, not make eye contact with anyone. Most of my neighbors had already heard about me in the news, knew I had been in Bellevue—they probably thought I was crazy after all.

  At Mount Sinai Hospital, after a doctor examined me, a nurse arrived.

  “Can I call my son?” I asked her.

  “Of course you can,” she said.

  She let me borrow her cell, and I called Carly’s. Her father answered. I asked him if it was okay if Jonah stayed there tonight.

  “Of course,” he said. “So what exactly happened? I heard the police had to go to your place.”

  I didn’t want to alarm him and make him think he was in an unsafe situation.

  “It’s all going to be fine,” I said. “But, do me a favor. If Maria calls, or shows up, don’t let her into the apartment or near Jonah. Call the police right away.”

  “Okay,�
�� he said, “but why?”

  “She just may be a little, well, unstable right now. Nothing to worry about at all, it’s just a precaution. I really appreciate you watching Jonah. Can I speak to him?”

  “Sure thing.”

  I waited a few seconds.

  “Hi, Daddy,” Jonah said.

  “My favorite sound in the world,” I said. “How are you?”

  “When are you picking me up?”

  “As soon as I can, but probably not till tomorrow.”

  “Can Mommy pick me up?”

  “No, she can’t either.”

  Detective Barasco entered.

  “Hey, I have to go now,” I said, “but I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Daddy.”

  I ended the call.

  “Why I am I getting déjà vu?” Barasco asked.

  “Maria, my wife, killed Sophie Ward,” I said. “She was also involved in Anthony’s murder.”

  “How do you know this?” he asked.

  I explained that I had phone records showing frequent contact with Lawrence Ward and that she was Fugitive Red.

  “If you examine her iPad you can probably find cookies or whatever.”

  “I’ll need to see whatever you have right away,” he said.

  “I have it backed up on the cloud,” I said. “Just get me a laptop and I’ll send you everything. But you have to find Maria right away and keep her away from my son. She tried to kill me.”

  “Why did she try to kill you?”

  “If you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk to you about any more of this until my lawyer gets here.”

  “Look at you,” Barasco said, “knowing all your rights.”

  Barasco said he’d come back later.

  I called Marcus Freemont and said, “Guess who?”

  “Oh no,” he said. “What happened to your other lawyer?”

  “Let’s just say there’s a lot I need to catch you up on,” I said.

  When Freemont arrived at the hospital, it was past midnight.

  “You trying to visit every hospital in town before you die?” he asked.

  “Ha, good to see you, too,” I said. “Sorry I replaced you the other day, but I was pressured by my wife and—”

  “No worries,” he said, “I’ve had worse disappointments. So what the hell happened?”

  I explained everything that had gone down at our apartment.

  “The cops can find the pieces of my cell phone on the street,” I said. “Maybe there’s a way to recover the data.”

  “Doubtful,” he said, “but I’ll look into it. Hopefully we can get by without her confession, we’ll see.”

  Barasco joined us.

  “My client’s ready to talk,” Freemont said.

  “Finally,” Barasco said. “By the way, we’re looking for your wife. Do you have any idea where she went? Does she have any relatives?”

  “She has a cousin, Michael Brant. He’s a lawyer. She has a friend Steve in Westchester, maybe he knows something.”

  “Text me all the contact info and we’ll check it out,” Barasco said. “So what do you have to tell me?”

  I told Barasco what I’d told Freemont.

  “Sounds like you did some good work there,” Barasco said. “Of course, I’m gonna take credit for it.”

  I didn’t think he was joking.

  “Actually we already have unknown DNA from the Sophie Ward crime scene.”

  “That could be Maria’s,” I said.

  “Could be,” he said. “We’ll have to run some more tests to confirm it, though. Send me the name of your wife’s doctor and dentist, too, if you can.”

  * * *

  The doctors made me stay overnight for observation. In the morning, as per hospital protocol, they transported me via wheelchair to the hospital’s exit on Madison Avenue, and then I rushed out and hailed a cab.

  I had no plan for what I’d say to Jonah. How could I possibly explain to him what his mother had done? How could he possibly understand, when I didn’t understand it myself?

  When I saw him, sitting on the floor with Carly, coloring in coloring books, I didn’t even try to explain anything to him; how could I?

  I just hugged him and told him how much I loved him. That was the best I could do.

  * * *

  Later, Freemont called me with some news—the DNA from the townhouse was linked to Maria. In addition, on Maria’s iPad, they found cookies of her chat sessions as “Fugitive_Red” on Discreet Hookups. The police found a few witnesses who had seen Maria and Lawrence together at various Manhattan hotels, and supporting video provided additional evidence of their affair.

  The bad news was the police hadn’t found Maria.

  “The cops are all over it now,” Freemont said. “She’s a top priority. They’re looking all over New York State and in surrounding states.”

  “Yeah, but by now she could be out of the country,” I said.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Have you noticed any withdrawals from your bank account?”

  Shit, why hadn’t I thought about that sooner? I’d been so worried about Jonah I hadn’t been able to focus on anything else.

  “Hold one sec,” I said.

  On my phone, I logged on to our joint bank account. Sure enough, the 200,000 dollars was gone.

  “Fuck me,” I said.

  “What happened?” Freemont asked.

  “Let’s just say I don’t think money is an issue for her right now,” I said.

  * * *

  I was hoping that the police would find Maria and arrest her. But days, then weeks went by and the police had no leads. It was like she had vanished.

  I tried to get back into a routine, rebuild my life and Jonah’s life, but it was hard to move on. I knew Maria wouldn’t stay away forever. At some point she’d return and try to get revenge, or try to see Jonah. I felt like I was constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for Maria to appear at any moment. My thoughts became increasingly paranoid.

  Some people with PTSD flash back to a particular event, but I had flashbacks to discovering Sophie and Anthony’s bodies, killing Lawrence, my attempted suicide, and fighting with Maria. There were days I felt like I belonged back at Bellevue, but I fought through it. I knew I had a huge responsibility now to Jonah. I was the only support system he had and I couldn’t let him down.

  Jonah also showed signs of PTSD. He was anxious and depressed, and one day I had to pick him up from school after he had a panic attack.

  We saw a family therapist together and psychiatrists individually. I was taking Paxil for my symptoms. Jonah wasn’t on any meds because of his age, but his psychiatrist didn’t rule out meds in the future if he didn’t show improvement.

  Jonah and I didn’t talk specifically about what had happened. I didn’t pressure him to, getting the vibe that he felt more comfortable talking to his therapist about it.

  So I was surprised when, one day after school pickup, he said to me, “Did Mommy kill people?”

  I didn’t want to avoid the question. I’d talked to my own therapist about this very issue. Avoidance wasn’t behavior I wanted to model.

  “One person,” I said.

  “How come?”

  I took a few moments, to organize my thoughts, then said, “I know this is hard for you to understand. But your mom had a lot of problems. It doesn’t mean you’ll ever have problems.”

  We walked for a while in silence. Leaves were falling from the trees, but neither of us tried to snag them.

  “I miss Mommy so much,” Jonah said.

  “I know you do,” I said.

  We continued on.

  * * *

  Step 10: Continued to take personal inventory, and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.

  I sent a short email to Rob McEvoy, apologizing for what I’d done and for any pain I’d caused him. Then I blocked his number and blocked him on Facebook, so if he tried to contact me, I wouldn’t feel pressured to re
spond. Rob had been a negative influence, and I had to get negative people out of my life.

  I thanked Raymond Ferrara, the man who’d prevented me from jumping onto the subway tracks, for saving my life and apologized for not thanking him sooner.

  I wanted to take full responsibility for everything I’d done and not blame others for my mistakes. But, going forward, I also wanted to focus on positive relationships and rid my life of negative influences.

  I worked hard on my resume and went to job interviews. Finally, I landed a job in the PR department at a recording studio downtown. It wasn’t a creative position, but it would help get me back into an artistic mind-set. I played guitar every evening at home. Music had always been my passion, but it was also a great form of therapy, and I realized how much I’d missed it over the years. I’d even written a few new songs—for myself. I wasn’t planning to play them in public any time soon, but it felt amazing to just playing again, to have music back in my life. I was teaching Jonah how to play guitar as well. He loved it, had a natural ear. Thank God for music. I know this might sound corny, but music was helping us heal.

  I attended A.A. meetings two or three days a week. I had a new sobriety date, and I was hoping it was the last one I’d need. I certainly had enough new material to give inspirational speeches for the rest of my life.

  I spent just about all of my free time with Jonah. Especially now that he only had one parent to raise him, I wanted to be there for him as much as I possibly could. Except for going to A.A. meetings, I didn’t use a babysitter. I was home with Jonah—cooking his meals, helping him with his homework. Evenings were much more peaceful than they used to be when Maria was living with us. There was no tension, no fighting. Best of all, I got to spend more time with my son.

  Several months passed by. I checked in with Barasco every couple of weeks or so, hoping to hear news that Maria had been arrested, or at least the police had some new solid leads.

  “We won’t give up looking for her, I promise,” Barasco said.

  Over the summer, Jonah and I took a trip to California. We went to San Francisco, camped in Big Sur, and then drove down the coast to L.A. and Disneyland.

  There was one weird incident at Disneyland. We were in line at Haunted Mansion when I thought I saw Maria in the crowd, about fifty yards away. It was hard to tell for sure, but the hair was the same—maybe a little longer—and that red dress looked like hers.