Glass Houses

by Terri Nolan

  “Both of you. A marriage takes two.”

  Thom didn’t know where Noa was going with the questions, and he began to seriously feel uncomfortable.

  “Did she even question the wire?”

  Of course she hadn’t. Thom didn’t have to make up a lie. “She doesn’t care about the money.”

  “Everyone cares about money, Thom. Especially Anne. She’s been spending a lot of it lately.”

  “So? She works hard. She’s up with the kids, gets them to school, goes to work, picks up the kids from school, helps them with homework, makes dinner. She’s entitled to spend money.”

  “The bulk of your salary goes into a retirement fund. You live off her.”

  Thom’s anger flared. “So what? I’d love her if she were poor. I wear off-the-rack suits, nothing fancy. Our children are not raised in a privileged household. We have old-fashioned values. Anne cooks dinner every night, the kids clean the kitchen, they do chores and yard work, everyone has a job. Sunday is family day. We attend Mass and spend time with our relatives. We’re hands-on parents.”

  “But not a couple.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Do you understand what would happen if she forced you out? Where could you live on a homicide detective’s salary that’s even close to what the kids are used to? Your cousin’s house? It may not matter to you and Anne, but trust me, the kids know their economic status affects peer relationships. All rich kids know this because they learn it from other rich kids. If you and Anne separated they’d stay with the money. They know who provides. Which brings us to the issue at hand. A potential affair. What if it’s true? What are you going to do?”

  “I seriously have no idea.”

  “Do you want to stay married?”

  “I want the kind of relationship we used to have. I want to sleep in our marriage bed. Mostly, I want her to look at me with love and respect. A smile would be nice, too.”

  “But that doesn’t prevent you from catting around.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “I can see that by looking at your financials. I know where she spends money. I know where you spend money. There’s no intersection. You co-parent, but live parallel lives. When was the last time you went on a date?”

  “We went to an automotive industry dinner dance.”

  Noa leaned forward. “That’s not a date, Thom. And I bet you didn’t even dance.”

  No, they hadn’t. Anne spent much of her time talking to colleagues and Ford representatives. He drank at the bar.

  Noa said, “Okay, I’ve rested enough. Time to eat more. Thom?”

  Thom picked at the pulled pork. Dipped it into the Huli-Huli sauce and rolled it in rice.

  “You eat left handed,” said Noa. “Yet, you’re right-handed. I can tell by the cross-draw holster worn under your left arm. You’re very comfortable with that weapon. You sat down and didn’t even adjust it. It’s a part of you. As are those handcuffs you tuck into the back waistband of your pants. Have you ever shot someone?”

  “I get it,” said Thom, wiping his fingers on the now-cold towel. “You think I’m going to kill the man who’s screwing my wife.”

  “Are you?”

  “If you’re as good as Ron proclaimed then you’d know I’ve never shot anybody. I spend a lot of time on the range.”

  “Yet you keep your gun hand free. Ron’s a lefty. Draws left. Next time you see him, watch how he holds things. Always with his right hand. Never his left. His gun hand is ready and always available. It’s a warrior thing, you know. I still do it even though I no longer carry a firearm. You don’t draw your weapon, and yet you’re a warrior, too.”

  “I’m a cop. It’s habit. Don’t read into it.”

  “That’s the thing, Thom, I have to consider it. If we are to do business I have to know that you won’t go mental. I’m going to give you one free thing right now.”

  He paused for emphasis. “Anne is having an affair.”

  Thom jumped up and spun toward a prep table stacked with metal bowls. One second he intended to reach over and knock them off, the next second he found himself face down on the red tile floor and confused about how he got there. Then he felt Noa’s hand on the back of his neck and his mouth near Thom’s ear.

  “You really want Jin to wash all those bowls?”

  Noa lifted Thom to his feet and pushed him onto the chair.

  Thom sat, stunned by the speed in which Noa moved and paralyzed by the hard word.

  Affair.

  He already knew. Why had the confirmation taken him by surprise? A disembodied voice said, “Well, that’s an inconvenient truth.” He almost laughed when he realized the words were his own. “She already left me. I’ve left her. Where do we go from here? I don’t know why this happened to us.”

  A tornado of dark swirled around him. He felt outside himself, looked down at the wretch he’d become. Just yesterday he prayed to God; asked for illumination, a light, an answer. As he sat here in an underground kitchen, aware of Noa’s eyes trained on the geography of his face, he felt God’s response. A glimmer of light cut through the darkness. A wisp of warmth.

  “How did this situation happen?” said Thom. “Why did Anne and Thom allow a good relationship to go bad?” He reached out, grasped at air. “I don’t remember. It was so long ago.”

  A voice said, “They did it to each other.”

  He waved a finger at Noa. “Yes. Like he said, we are living parallel lives.”

  “We’re both to blame in equal measure.” Yes. Like she said.

  “Yes! Both. Of. Us. Are. Guilty!” He stood, waved his arms as if swimming. This time the red tile came up to him.

  _____

  Noa slapped Thom’s face. “Okay, there, man? Have a drink.”

  Thom sipped a sharp liquid. Felt the warmth down his throat, behind the eyes.

  “Jesuschristalmighty,” said Thom. He awoke, as if from a dream. “I’m a mess. No wonder she went looking for someone else.”

  “Just sit, man.”

  Jin placed two small bowls on the table. A scoop of ice cream in each.

  Noa picked up a wooden spoon and took a bite. “Mmmm, homemade lemon and lavender. Thanks, Jin.”

  Thom took a bite as well. Found the sour and the sweet a bit too much. He chuckled. “Ah, I get it. Take the sweet with the sour.” He took another bite. “Okay, Mr. Expensive Therapist, what do I do now?”

  “That’s up to you,” said Noa. “What do you want?”

  “I want everything.”

  “Everything? Video, photos, emails, text messages? How much of everything?”

  “I want every bit of everything.”

  “Why?”

  “My cousin, Bird, thinks Anne is having me watched. That she’s responsible for the eyes and ears. She told me Anne was planning divorce before Anne told me herself. Bird thinks she’s scheming to avoid spousal support. I could care less about that. But I have to think about the kids. They’re old enough to choose. Sure, they’d visit me, but where would they sleep? I’ll fight like with like.”

  “Sounds like this Bird is a smart woman. What if the man is someone you know?”

  “Ah, damnit. Really? What exactly are you asking because I have no idea what I’m capable of, but I tell you this, I haven’t devoted my life to doing good so I can be bad.”

  “I already know that Anne is having an affair just by examining her financials. That was the easy part. I’ll give you proof, but not a complete history. I’ll provide plenty of evidence to conduct private negotiations. You can’t use it in a court of law. If you attempt to do so, there will be consequences.”

  Thom rested his forehead on the table. Tired. Spent. “I just need to know for sure. That’s all I ask. I asked her outright and she lied to me.”

  “You bring the twenty-two Benjamins?”r />
  Thom pulled the bank envelope from the breast pocket of his jacket and placed it on the table.

  Noa picked it up and handed it to Jin who discreetly tucked it into a pocket under his smock.

  “Thank you. Always the best.”

  Jin bowed then removed his smock, put on a duster, picked up a backpack, and departed.

  Noa nodded with satisfaction and pressed a button on the wall.

  Two assistants entered the kitchen through a side door and immediately began clearing the table.

  “So what now?” said Thom.

  “Keep the phone a few more days. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Guess I’m not a maniac after all.”

  “Just a man trying to find his way through the dark.”

  _____

  Thom found Birdie in front of the dry erase board bouncing with excitement. She turned toward him with complete joy.

  “It’s been an awesome day. You won’t believe what I’ve learned about Iris. We’ve turned a corner in this case.”

  Thom didn’t hear. His eyes focused on a manila envelope lying on the altar.

  “Oh, yeah, a messenger delivered that for you. A cute old man about this big.” She held out her hand breast high.

  “When?”

  “About ten minutes ago.”

  “Sonofabitch,” said Thom. “Noa already had it.”

  “Wait. Is that what I think it is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Already? You just saw him.”

  Thom picked up the envelope. Tossed it hand to hand. Weighed the decision.

  “Open it,” encouraged Birdie.

  He tossed it to her. “You open it.”

  Birdie ripped it open, laid the contents on the altar.

  A stack of documents, a photo sleeve, and three discs labeled Anne, Thom, and misc.

  The label on the photo sleeve read: caution.

  The label on Anne’s disc read: enter at your own risk.

  _____

  Thom knelt at the prie-dieu at the eastern corner of Birdie’s living room. Birdie hung back while he finished praying. When he was done Birdie gave him a hug for good luck. He wavered and fell onto the couch.

  “Anne’s disc is ready. Just touch the play button,” she said.

  “The documents?”

  “Culled from different sources. A financial history of Anne’s expenditures. Clothing, shoes, jewelry—both men and women’s. The earliest transactions out of the norm appeared in October of last year. In December she opened a private account at a small bank. She also has a dedicated credit card. Right now the bank account has a balance of just over three-hundred thousand, but nearly four times that much has moved through it. The biggest purchase was a house. A three-bedroom place in Brentwood. Gated of course. A private love nest.

  “There are a number of bills paid through the account: two cell phones on a shared family plan, maintenance fees for the house, the credit card, of course. The biggest expense besides the house has gone to an investigator. It confirms that Anne paid for the eyes and ears on you. I assume the disc labeled Thom is proof of your malfeasance, but I didn’t look at it. Nor did I look at the miscellaneous disc.”

  “The photos?”

  “Didn’t look.”

  Thom stood and took a deep, weary breath.

  “I’m going upstairs,” said Birdie. “Give you some space.”

  “No. Don’t. Watch with me? I can’t do this alone.”

  Birdie held out her hand. They threaded fingers and went into the office.

  forty-eight

  Birdie had set up a second monitor next to the one on her desk.

  “A spare. The video is split screen. I thought it’d be easier to view this way,” she explained.

  On the left monitor were establishing shots of Anne’s Ford Five Hundred. The camera zoomed onto the license plate.

  “Impressive,” said Birdie.

  It moved upward and got a straight-on view of the driver. Anne appeared to be singing, her fingers tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel. At this very moment Birdie lost all respect for the woman.

  Thom fisted his hands, his face set to a stony glare.

  Anne waited until the gate closed behind her before proceeding down the driveway and turning out onto the street. The follow car pulled behind her.

  “An active camera,” said Birdie.

  “As opposed to?”

  “One that’s static, stationary. The operator has control of the view.”

  On the right monitor, a GPS street map. Anne’s car appeared as a blue dot. The follow car as a green dot.

  “A tracker,” said Birdie.

  “Is that the date and time?” said Thom pointing at the lower left corner of the real view. “Holy shit. This was taken yesterday.” Thom’s mouth fell open. He slapped his head. Spun around the office. “I can’t do this.”

  Birdie pressed pause and waited. She had no idea what agonies he felt. She only could guess based on her own struggles to recover from recent tragedies—every day an effort.

  Thom paced the room muttering. Anne was the light of his life. The woman he loved. The one who slowly slipped through his fingers like sand. His life was about to change in unexplainable and tragic ways. His future uncertain.

  Thom said, “Bird … I can’t watch.”

  “Okay.” She turned off the monitors. “It’s redundant, anyway. Her love affair is confirmed, that’s sufficient.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I need to know who. I want you to watch and tell me. Please be the eyes I can’t be.”

  “How would I know who the guy is?” she said in a borderline whine.

  “His identity is in there somewhere.” He pointed at the package.

  “Thom …” she pleaded. She really didn’t want to.

  “Please, Bird. I’m going to wait in my room.” He held out his arms. She went to him and he pulled her into a tight hug, buried his face in her hair. His body shuddered with grief.

  “I don’t think I can live without her,” he whispered.

  “You’re already living without her,” said Birdie, gently. “You’ll get through this. I survived Matt. You’ll survive Anne. We Keanes come from rugged stock. We get knocked down, we get back up.”

  Thom kissed her forehead. “Thank you for being my family, my friend. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Thom.”

  “I’ll wait for you upstairs. I’m sorry.”

  He let go and departed.

  Birdie sat back down in front of the monitors; popped a fresh piece of Doublemint into her mouth and turned them back on. Her finger hovered over the play button. Afraid for Thom. Anne had forced her husband into three rotten choices: to be celibate, asexual, or seek sex elsewhere. Instead of working on the marriage with the father of her children, she took the selfish road to pleasure—Thom and the kids be damned.

  With a deep breath of sorrow she pressed play and restarted the video.

  Her eyes tracked between the images as the car drove streets familiar to Birdie. Anne headed toward Brentwood. The love nest.

  This was a two-camera follow. The one shooting Anne’s car appeared to originate from the top of the car. A second camera had to be mounted on the ceiling and aimed at the dash, the GPS monitor screen in the center of the field. Every now and then she’d see a gloved hand move an analog stick and the view from the top of the car would change. No wonder this friend of Ron’s was so expensive—he had cool toys.

  The green dot passed the blue dot. The hand toggled the analog stick and the camera swept 180-degrees and now shot Anne from the front. Birdie couldn’t help being impressed by the technology.

  Anne continued the singing, driving casual, no cares in the world. Seeing her this happy was hard to watch and Birdie understood why Thom couldn
’t do it.

  A green light, like that from a laser, flashed briefly from the follow—now ahead—car. The signal was returned from some bushes. The images on the monitor went blank. A banner scrolled holding … holding … holding …

  The hand-off had occurred.

  A greenish image flicked up on the left monitor. Night vision. Though it wasn’t completely dark, the day waned and the light diminished. Whoever operated it had a steady hand. It moved quickly up the street and slid into the gate just as it closed and up the driveway that curved left. A garage door rolled upward. The camera operator was no more than sixty feet away, possibly shooting from the ground. It zoomed onto a second vehicle already in the garage. Got a close up of the license plate …

  Birdie covered her mouth and suppressed a scream.

  She knew the car. And its bastard owner.

  Birdie paused the video and pushed back from the desk.

  Oh, this couldn’t get worse. She got up and paced, just as Thom had done. Shook out her hands. What to do? This betrayal would be a soul-searing injury to Thom. His reaction to the man’s identity would be swift and potentially deadly. There’d be no way she’d be able to stop him.

  She picked up the phone and dialed Arthur. “Hey,” he answered, all sleepy. “It’s late.”

  “I have an emergency situation. I need you to come to the Bird House immediately.”

  “What’s going on?” all serious and wide awake. She could hear him moving around quickly, prepping to depart.

  “I’m going to need help with Thom. I won’t be able to handle him alone.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll explain when you get here. Pick up Father Frank on the way. I’ll call and give him a heads-up. The new code for the front door is 9-9-3-8. Let yourself in.”

  “Roger that. I’m on my way.”

  Birdie dialed Frank’s number. At this hour, the volunteer would be gone and she’d get the message machine. She crossed her fingers that he’d at least screen the call and pick up. It rang and rang until she finally got the generic greeting for St. Joseph Catholic Church. She sat impatiently through the Mass times, hours of confession, ways to make a donation, and directions to the church before she finally got to the point she could press “1” to leave a message.