The Wife: A Novel of Psychological Suspense

by Alafair Burke

  “Hey.”

  “We need to talk—” The voice wasn’t Colin’s. Of course, Jason had gone to his best friend’s apartment.

  “I said I needed some time. An hour isn’t time.”

  “Angela—”

  “Don’t call me. I will call you when I’m ready. If you call me before then, I’ll know you don’t respect what I want.”

  I thought about the way Colin looked at me only hours earlier, when I told him as he left that I didn’t want him ever to mention what happened between us unless I brought it up first. It was a look of acceptance. He understood that I knew things about myself that he did not. I had just made a similar request of Jason.

  I turned my phone off, then reached over to his nightstand and turned his off for good measure.

  42

  Corrine pounded on the Powells’ front door again. What kind of people don’t have a bell or a knocker for a house this size? She made herself comfortable on the stoop steps and pulled the rubber band from the New York Times sitting on the welcome mat. It was nearly three o’clock. Someone would show up eventually.

  She had skimmed the front-page headlines when she heard locks tumbling behind her. Rising from the steps, she turned to find Angela Powell in checkered pajama pants and a Stanford sweatshirt.

  “Sorry, I assumed you’d be up.”

  “Migraine.”

  “Oh, the worst. Apple cider vinegar with honey. It does the trick for me. I did try to call first.”

  Angela didn’t bother to mask her disinterest. “So when I didn’t answer, you just came over instead of contacting our lawyer?”

  “I told you before, Olivia Randall’s not your lawyer. She’s Jason’s.”

  “Well, in case you haven’t heard, the criminal case is on pause.”

  Angela started to close the door, but Corrine extended her arm. “That’s the litigation, Mrs. Powell. Police can still investigate cases. Especially new cases.”

  Angela inched the door open farther, but still didn’t allow Corrine to enter.

  “Is your husband home?”

  “No. He’s working to keep his clients despite being falsely accused of a heinous crime.”

  “And was he working last night?”

  “He was here.”

  “You were with him?”

  “How else would I know unless I was with him?” Angela sounded proud, as if she had outwitted an adversary. “Our friend brought over a huge bag of food for the day. Thanks to you people, we can’t even show our faces around New York City these days.”

  “What friend?”

  “Colin Harris. He brought takeout from Gotham. Call the restaurant. There was enough for lunch and dinner. What’s this about?”

  “Kerry Lynch is missing.”

  For the first time since she opened the door, Angela paused, allowing the words to register as she formulated her comeback. “Maybe she realized that she was about to be exposed as a liar framing an innocent man to cover up for a company that does business with warlords.”

  “That’s a harsh allegation about a missing woman.”

  “Forgive me if I don’t feel sorry for her.”

  “Was Mr. Harris also here with you last night?”

  “No, just us. We couldn’t fall asleep and watched La La Land in bed.”

  “On TV?”

  “We streamed it.”

  “Where’s your son?”

  “Camp. Upstate. He called last night,” she added. “My cell phone around seven thirty. You can verify that, too.”

  Corrine nodded. She’d get the phone records and make sure the information lined up. “And he spoke to both of you?”

  “Yes, of course. Now, if we’re done, I’d start looking more carefully at Ms. Lynch if I were you.”

  “You mean, for Ms. Lynch.”

  “No, I mean at her. Because I guarantee that whatever she’s pulling right now, it has something to do with the scam she’s running with her employer.” Angela stepped aside and gestured for Corrine to come in. “Feel free to take a look. I assure you, she’s not here.”

  Corrine pursed her lips and nodded, realizing that she wasn’t going to get the response she’d been hoping for. “I know you don’t believe me, Angela, but I’m on your side. How well do you really know your husband?”

  “I know he’s innocent.”

  Corrine might have pressed harder if she hadn’t known about this woman’s past. “At some point, you’re no longer a bystander. You become an enabler. And after that, I can no longer help you. Don’t let Jason take you and your boy down with him.”

  43

  The second the door closed, I began shaking. I calmed myself by forcing myself to think through every task I needed to complete, in a very precise order.

  Once the Impala was gone, I turned on my cell phone and waited for it to power up. I checked my voice mail. The only message besides the detective’s was from Susanna, asking if I was mad at her. Jason had respected my request to give me some space.

  My first call was to Olivia Randall. I left a message telling her that the police had come to the house asking about Jason’s whereabouts the previous night, and that I’d explained that he’d been with me all night. My next call was to Colin.

  “Hey, you.” His voice was gentle.

  There was so much I wanted to say, but all I could think about was the fact that I had just lied to a detective. “Where are you?”

  “A closing in midtown.” He sounded alarmed. “Are you all right?”

  “Was Jason at your apartment last night?”

  “Yeah. He said you had a fight. A really bad one.” He lowered his voice further. “At first, I was worried he came to me because of what happened with us yesterday. But he said he wanted to crash for the night. What’s going on?”

  “Kerry Lynch is missing.”

  “What? Since when?”

  “I don’t know, but a detective was just here asking me where Jason was last night, and she also said Kerry was missing.”

  “Since last night is hardly missing.”

  “I was going to say he was at your apartment,” I said, “and then I realized how bad that would look. I was so done with him last night, but when she started asking me questions with that accusing tone, my instincts kicked in. I’ve gotten so used to jumping to his defense, I did it on autopilot. Should I call her and tell her the truth? I have her number.”

  He paused, clearly weighing the options. “No. It’s fine. Whether he was with me or with you is irrelevant. Changing your story now will only look worse, and they could wind up targeting you for not coming clean in the first place.”

  “But what if they find out I lied?”

  “They won’t. The only way that would happen is if Jason was somewhere other than my place, and he wasn’t. So your story’s fine.”

  “Okay, but Jason really was there with you, right? Every minute?” I pressed a palm against my eyes, wondering if I was getting an actual migraine.

  “Yes. Of course. Don’t worry about it. Given Kerry’s history, she probably hooked up with a guy and will turn up later tonight.”

  As I hung up, I realized that just as I had grown accustomed to covering for Jason, Colin could be doing the same, especially after what happened between us the day before. Colin was hardly ever home. Had he really stayed at the apartment all night with Jason?

  And I thought about Spencer. I had managed to drag him into my lie. If I called him now, they’d say I told him to back up the false alibi.

  I tried to imagine what Spencer would do if the police contacted him. If I had to guess, he would tell them he wasn’t saying a word without his mom. It was the way I raised him. I was his person. On the other hand, if he didn’t see the harm—and he wouldn’t, because I had sent him up to that camp so he’d be oblivious about what was happening here—he’d repeat my stupid story about sending Jason out for an avocado. And then what?

  I was trying to decide what to do when my phone rang. A 914 area code, Westches
ter. Spencer’s camp counselor. I steadied my voice. “Hi, Kate. Is everything all right?”

  “Spencer’s fine, but I wanted to let you know that he’s been in the infirmary—he managed to get into some poison ivy.”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “Yep, I’m sure he’d like that.”

  “Hey, kiddo. You doing okay?”

  “I want to cut my left arm off, but I’ll probably live. It itches like hell.”

  “They gave you something?”

  “Some stinky lotion and a Benadryl, but she won’t give me the hard stuff!” He was yelling to make sure Kate heard the last part.

  “Good. Hey, Spencer, I need to ask you something, okay? If anyone—anyone at all—asks you about when you called last night, I need you to tell them that you spoke to both me and Dad, okay?”

  “Mom, what’s wrong?”

  “I just need you to do that for me, okay?” I tried to keep my voice from cracking. I was asking the most honest person I knew to lie.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Spencer would do whatever I requested, in part because I never abused the privilege. I saw how other moms barked orders at their kids. I never told Spencer to do anything blindly without explanation, not even to talk to his own father when he was angry at him.

  I hung up, ashamed that my son’s loyalty had provided a solution to my problem, but relieved. There had to be a reason for the timing, right? I saw it as a sign that the gods were trying to help.

  My final phone call was to Jason’s office. He had told me he had back-to-back client meetings, trying to save some business. He wouldn’t have canceled them.

  “Fair Share Strategies, this is Zack.” Jason had forwarded his direct line to Zack’s extension.

  “Hey, Zack. It’s Angela.”

  “Ah, yes. Jason’s in a meeting, but he told me to interrupt him if you called.”

  The brief hold felt like an eternity. I had let these allegations from other women get into my head. When I saw Jason yesterday, I had convinced myself that he was guilty of victimizing not only them, but me. I had even wondered if he had ever really loved me. Now I knew how wrong I had been. He wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t a predator.

  “I’m so glad you called.” I had kicked him out of his own house, and yet he sounded genuinely happy to hear my voice.

  “Jason, Kerry Lynch is missing. Please tell me you didn’t do this because of me.”

  44

  From: Jason Powell

  To: Olivia.Randall@ellisonrandall.com

  Re: Discovery from NYPD/DA

  Date: June 7

  Hi Olivia. Sorry for the delay. Needless to say, a lot has happened since you sent me the discovery you got from the DA yesterday. (I also just left you a voice mail message about Det. Duncan going to the house today to question Angela. Angela said she left you a message, too.)

  Apparently Kerry is “missing,” whatever that means. As you can imagine, I am deeply disturbed that their first instinct was to show up at our home. Make sure you read to the end for notes on this.

  In response to the questions from your earlier e-mail, here are my thoughts, followed by—more importantly—new developments:

  Regarding our argument that night at the W, we should discuss this further, because the dynamics are complicated. Here’s the short version: After dinner on 4/10, we were intimate in her room. She wanted me to stay the night but of course I could not (that never stopped her from asking). In an act of very bad timing, I decided to talk to her again before I left about my concerns regarding Oasis. She knew I was in a conflicted position, not only because I had investors with them, but also because she worked for them and I cared about her. I had talked to her about the possibility of becoming a whistleblower, and brought it up with her again. At that point, I thought the problems were limited to projects in Tanzania and Mozambique, which could mean that someone handling their operations in Africa was responsible. But that night, she said my concerns shed new light on some internal memos she had been cc’d on. She’s the one who made me suspect that corruption might be par for the course for Oasis. I pressed her for details, but she shut down. From that moment on, she was basically promising to give me the documents and help me “go whistleblower” if I left Angela for her—a test of my commitment to fulfill promises I never should have made. If the video shows us fighting, it’s because I was telling her that she could not be complicit if she knew Oasis was in bed with dictators and warlords. I remember thinking when I stepped into the elevator, “What have I done?” I knew I had messed up getting tied up with Oasis.

  Regarding the clothes Kerry was wearing, she wears knee-length skinny black skirts more often than not, and almost always wears a black lace thong (to my knowledge). If I had to guess, whatever clothing she was wearing our last time together at her house will line up with what she was wearing in the hotel video. She’s not stupid.

  Regarding the “injuries” to her wrists: Yes. We engaged in that activity multiple times. The last time we were together, she specifically asked that I use my belt. I remember she said “Tighter” twice. I was worried it was too rough, but she was encouraging. I now realize why. I’m a fool. There’s no doubt in my mind those photos are from 5/19 at her house, not 4/10 at the W.

  Regarding your attempt (once again) to put Angela out front, as we’ve discussed, this is a deal-breaker. Angela has been through enough. Mention this again, and I’ll need to find a different lawyer. You indicated yesterday that their attorney was open to a settlement. If it will put all this behind us, I’ll pay. Just tell me the number.

  *****IMPORTANT: While I was at work today, Det. Duncan questioned Angela without counsel at our home regarding my whereabouts last night (I assume this must be when Kerry went “missing”). As she explained, we were home together from the time I finished client meetings (got home around 6:15) until we fell asleep. Our son called from camp shortly before 7:30. We ate takeout from Gotham, then stayed up late and watched La La Land. I am attaching the following documents should they prove helpful: (1) photo of Angela’s phone (as you know, we have no landline), showing call from Spencer’s camp (ending 7:23 pm); (2) receipt from Gotham (Colin brought us food for the whole day); (3) printout from Amazon Prime movie rental, showing streaming time (starting at 11:02 pm). What more could they want from me other than a webcam in my house (which I would have agreed to if I had known this nonsense would happen)?

  I have no idea what Kerry’s trying to pull, but trust me: it’s about money and getting back at me. You saw that movie Gone Girl, right? She’s that batshit-crazy about me not leaving Angela for her. Granted, I was a shit head, but I don’t deserve this. Give me a call to discuss. Thanks, as always, for everything. I still can’t believe this is happening.

  45

  Corrine found out Kerry Lynch was missing when a sergeant with the Port Washington Police Department called. According to him, Kerry Lynch’s dog walker showed up to her house to walk Kerry’s bichon frise, Snowball. The Long Island cop must have been a dog person, because he couldn’t just say “dog.” He had both the breed and the name at his fingertips. The dog walker did her usual routine with Snowball, but noticed as she returned his leash to its hook in the mudroom that Kerry’s purse and briefcase were both on the bench. She called out for Kerry, then looked in the attached garage and saw her car. When she walked into the kitchen, she found takeout containers on the counter and dishes in the sink. She had never seen a spot of dirt in Kerry’s house before.

  Growing concerned, the walker called Kerry’s cell to make sure everything was okay, and heard her own call come through on a cell left on the living room sofa. When she tried Kerry’s office, they said she hadn’t come in to work that day and that they had been trying to reach her. The walker’s next call was to 911.

  When the sergeant who got the call-out realized Kerry was the woman who had accused Jason Powell of sexual assault, he contacted Corrine.

  Corrine’s first call had been to Brian King. The sec
ond was to Janice Martinez, who had not bothered to get back to her until now, after a full day had passed.

  “Sorry, Detective. I’ve been swamped.”

  “All I needed was a phone call to find out the last time you spoke to Kerry Lynch.”

  “My communications with my client are—”

  “Give it a rest. I’m not asking about conversations. When I first called you, Kerry had only missed one day of work. We’re now on day two. She left behind her wallet, cell phone, ID, car, and dog. It’s not looking good.”

  The local police had called Grapevine, the Italian restaurant whose takeout containers were found in Kerry’s kitchen. According to the restaurant, her order—eggplant parmesan and a chicken Caesar salad—went out at 6:30 the evening before the dog walker found the house empty.

  “Fine,” Martinez said. “I haven’t spoken to her since Wednesday.”

  That was two days ago, the last time she was seen. “What time?”

  “Hold on.” Following a short pause, she said, “Three o’clock to three fifteen.”

  “This was a phone call?” If Corrine had to guess, it was an eight-minute call rounded to the nearest quarter hour for billing purposes.

  “Yeah, her cell. I heard her tell someone she was on the phone at one point. I got the impression she was in her office.”

  So Kerry had been at work until at least 3:15. She was likely home by 6:30 to order takeout. Then nothing.

  “Did you discuss anything that might explain why she’s gone now?” Corrine asked.

  “Nope, that’s off-limits.”

  “There are exceptions to privilege,” Corrine said. “Your client could be in danger.”

  “‘Could be’ are the key words. I need to talk to bar counsel for advice. I really am not sure what to do under the circumstances, and that’s not something you’re going to hear me say too often.”

  “It sounds to me as if you’re confirming that something happened Wednesday that might be relevant.”

  “I’m not. Because I can’t. Let me figure out what the options are, and I’ll get back to you. I promise.”