chapter fifteen
ALISON
I didn’t wait for their agreement, conscious of the time and terrified that someone could drive along this stretch at any minute and spot us. Switching on my iPhone flashlight, I took a closer look over the edge of the embankment. It was a steep slope, made slippery by the soft mulch created from years of fallen leaves, plus the recent rain and snow. At least it wasn’t raining at that moment. The clouds shifted, the moon disappearing, making me hesitate, before it reappeared a minute later. It seemed like a sign. Shoving my iPhone in my pocket, I used the edge of the stone bridge for support and picked my way down the hill before switching my grip to the trunk of a skinny, stunted tree. I looked back up to see Julie, Heather, and Sarah leaning over the bridge. Clearly panicky, Julie didn’t come close enough to pass me the gun, but instead just tossed the towel-wrapped weapon over the side to me. I missed and it slipped from the towel as it hit the ground beyond me, sliding forward into some leaves. I dug through them to retrieve it, gagging on the smell of wet rot and wood mold, and the awful, clammy feel of it, which thin latex gloves couldn’t fully block. Hastily bundling the gun back in the towel, I plodded through the soft ground, picking my way toward the creek and following it along the bank until it widened and the sound of water rushing over rocks grew louder.
It was so cold out I could see my breath. I unwrapped the gun, wiping it down one more time, just in case. It felt surprisingly heavy for something so small. An iron weight in my gloved palm. I hefted it and then threw it as far as I could downstream, aiming for the center. I heard the plop as it hit the water, a distinct noise in that awful darkness.
I hurried back up the way I came, moving so fast that I slipped and fell, hands sinking through the morass, palms scraping against the ground. Scrambling to my feet, I plowed on, frightened by the darkness, certain that someone was watching, that there were dark shadows sliding in and out of the trees. It was harder getting up the embankment than it had been going down. Julie reached out and helped pull me the rest of the way up.
“You’ve cut yourself,” Heather said, using a tissue to dab lightly at my face, holding it out with her gloved hand so I could see the dark spots of blood.
“Do that in the car,” Sarah said. “We’ve got to go.”
We drove back to Heather’s house in silence, Julie taking the curves as fast as she dared, all of us painfully aware of the dashboard clock relentlessly ticking away. It was almost four A.M. by the time we drove back up Heather’s driveway.
“Shit! What about the security cameras?” I said as we pulled up, scanning the corners of the house and the garage. “We’ll be caught on tape—we need to find that and destroy it.”
“No, it’s okay,” Heather said, delivering the only good news of that night. “Viktor disabled the cameras a while ago.”
She typed in the key code for the garage and the door to the bay that had held Viktor’s car rose, the rumbling noise so loud that I looked around, afraid of being overheard.
We all stripped off our latex gloves and added them to the trash bag and then three of us put on new pairs, but Heather didn’t need to. This was her house—the police would expect to find her fingerprints here.
I kicked off my muddy shoes so I could follow the others into the laundry room. I felt a sudden yearning to be home and doing laundry, a mundane, safe task that I would never complain about again, no matter how many dirty clothes the kids seemed to accumulate.
Julie righted the chair in the hall and I picked up the suitcase. “You need to unpack and put this away and clean up the kitchen,” I said. “Do you want us to do that for you?”
Heather shook her head, taking the case from me. “No, I can do it.”
“What about the garage?” Sarah asked. “We should check it for blood.”
There were a few tiny spots and Sarah poured bleach on each one while Julie and I scrubbed the concrete with a sponge until we couldn’t see anything.
“You have to get rid of the smell,” I said. “They’ll be suspicious of that. Do you have any scented candles? You need something strong to cover the bleach.”
Sarah knelt next to the damp spots to get a closer look. “I think we got all the blood, but you need to dry these spots otherwise it’ll be a red flag.”
“Okay, candles and a hair dryer—got it.” Heather ran back inside.
“That’s a relief,” I said once she was gone. “She couldn’t have fooled anybody the way she was acting before.”
“I guess she should call the police right after we leave,” Julie said.
“No, absolutely not,” Sarah said. “She goes to bed and she doesn’t realize her husband isn’t home until she wakes up later this morning—that’s when she calls.”
“And she should call the hospital first,” I said. “Or better yet his cell phone, which we know is going to go to voice mail, and then she should call the hospital.” I was trembling and it wasn’t just from being cold.
Heather came back with the dryer and a large white jar candle. “I’ll dry,” Sarah said. “You light the candle.”
Julie and I paced, pausing only to check the concrete floor with Sarah every few minutes. It took an interminable ten minutes before the damp spots were gone. The smell of bleach was overlaid with the burning odor from the hair dryer, but soon the sickly sweet aroma of vanilla-bean-scented candle began to overpower them.
There were a few tiny brown specks left on the concrete, but the largest of them was the size of a pinhead. No one would notice.
“Your hands,” I said, suddenly remembering. “Scrub them again with bleach and your fingernails, too, just to make sure there’s no gunshot residue. They probably won’t check, but better safe than sorry.”
Heather frowned and Sarah said, “Hopefully it won’t come to that and they won’t check you, but you’ve got to be prepared.”
“And make sure you’ve poured bleach down all the drains you used,” I reminded her. “Bleach and hot water.”
“Okay, we need to leave,” Sarah said, checking her watch. “Especially Alison—she’s got to wash her clothes.”
We reviewed what Heather should do one more time: sleep if she could for a few hours and then wake at her usual time, seven A.M., and pretend that this was when she realized that Viktor never came home. Call his cell phone and leave a message. “You want to sound concerned, but not overly concerned, not yet,” I said. “He’s been gone all night before, right?”
Heather nodded. “Not often, but sometimes he’d spend all night at the hospital.”
“So you’re just calling to check in and you can express surprise and a little concern that he didn’t come home, but not too much,” Sarah said.
“Save the concern for the call to the police,” I said. “After the hospital tells you he isn’t there, then you call the police.” I thought of something else. “When is Daniel coming home?”
“Sometime tomorrow.” Heather shrugged. “Anna never specifies—she wants it to be inconvenient for me.”
“Should Heather call Anna and tell her about Viktor?” Julie asked.
“Yes, good idea,” Sarah said. “You call Anna before you call the police—ask if she’s heard from her son. But before you call her, call his cell phone again after you call the hospital. Leave a frantic message.”
“Wait, it’s too many things to remember,” Heather said. “I need to write it down.” She went back inside to fetch a pen and notepad and we followed her back into the laundry room while she made a list.
“Burn that paper after you’re done with it,” Sarah said. “And two sheets underneath it, too. You don’t want any impression left for the police to trace.”
Julie glanced at her watch. “It’s almost half past.”
I shivered. “We have to leave.”
We stood there for a moment and then spontaneously moved together for a group hug—clinging to one another tightly. Something we would do for fun at other gatherings. “C’mon, group hug, let’s all s
ing ‘Kumbaya!’” Joking and laughing.
No one laughed now.
As three of us walked out to our cars, Sarah suggested that we rehearse what we were going to say if anyone at our houses was awake and asked where we’d been. “No need for me to have an excuse,” Julie said. “Brian’s at a conference in D.C.”
“You left the kids alone?” Sarah looked at her askance.
“They’re deep sleepers,” Julie said, unconcerned. “I left a note with my cell number in case they woke up.”
“What did the note say? Mommy had to go hide a body?”
Julie ignored her, turning to me. “You can both say you were at my house if Michael or Eric asks.”
“In the middle of the night?” Sarah said. “We’d need some reason.”
“Say that I heard some noise and with Brian out of town I was afraid to be alone.”
“And what if the police pull Heather’s cell-phone records?” I said. “They’ll see that she called me.”
“With any luck it won’t come to that,” Sarah said. “But if they do, then you can say the same thing—Heather called because she heard a strange noise and her husband wasn’t home to reassure her.”
There were so many pieces to remember, so many threads. The adrenaline was passing; I yawned as I got behind the wheel of my car. I already had the beginnings of that sinking feeling in my stomach, that sense of regret at having done something that I couldn’t undo.
* * *
The house was silent when I got home. It was so late that even George barely stirred, merely lifting his head from his dog bed to stare at me with big, questioning eyes. I stuffed the clothes I’d been wearing in the wash, grateful that I tended to procrastinate putting away laundry so there was a basket of clean clothing, including a nightshirt, which I slipped on before padding as soundlessly as possible upstairs to bed.
There was no noise on the second floor. I listened outside the kids’ bedrooms, but didn’t hear anything. I used my iPhone flashlight to find my way down the dark hall to the master bedroom, and slipped under the covers next to Michael. He stirred, making a grumbling sound at the rush of cold air that came in as I lifted the covers, but didn’t wake. I thought I’d have trouble falling asleep, but exhaustion overcame fear.
“Ali? Alison? Wake up, honey.” Michael was gently shaking me. I rolled onto my back and blinked up at him.
“What’s going on? Why are you up?”
He smiled. “It’s after eight. I let you sleep as long as I could, but I’ve got to take off.” He walked over to the windows and pulled back the heavy drapes. Filtered light poured in through the sheers, still bright enough that my eyes automatically shut, but not before I saw that he was ready for work in a suit and tie. “The kids are fed, and I packed them lunches, but the kitchen’s a mess. Leave it for me—I can get it later.” He bent down to give me a quick hug and kiss and I could smell coffee on his breath. “Hey, what happened here?” he ran a finger lightly down the side of my face and I winced. “You’ve got a scratch—how did you manage to do that?”
“A nail, I guess,” I said, trying to shrug.
“You feeling okay?” He stroked the hair back from my face. “You were out like a light.”
I nodded, trying to return his smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.” I swung out of bed, wondering if he’d also notice that I’d changed pajamas, but he didn’t.
He checked his watch. “It’s cutting it close to make the bus on time; can you drop Lucy off this morning?”
“Of course.” I tried not to stare at the clock on my nightstand as I threw on clothes and pulled my hair back in a ponytail. Heather would have called the hospital by now, then her mother-in-law. Had she phoned the police yet? I splashed water on my face in the master bath, looking at the thin scratch a branch had drawn down my cheek. I couldn’t face my own eyes in the mirror.
The kids were downstairs, dressed and waiting. “Mommy!” Matthew ran full-force at me on his small, socked feet, smacking against my legs.
“Oomph. Careful, baby.” I lifted him up, hugging him tight. “Ready for school?”
“Yes, Daddy made sandwiches for lunch!” He put a little hand against my face. “Oh, poor Mommy—you’ve got a boo-boo. Want to me to kiss it?”
I smiled. “Yes, please.”
He solemnly planted a gentle kiss on my cheek. “There, all better.”
I held him close, overcome by the desire for that to be true—for a kiss to make it all magically better, for what happened last night to be nothing more than a bad dream.
chapter sixteen
ALISON
It was an ordinary morning. It was only me that had changed. It felt bizarre to load the kids in the car and drive them to school. They chattered happily the whole way and I let it wash over me, smiling and nodding at them in the rearview mirror, making the appropriate sounds. Had the police found Viktor’s body yet? It wouldn’t take long. I thought of that slide down the embankment, of the heaviness of the gun in my hand.
“You passed it, Mommy!” Lucy cried and I saw that I’d driven right past the entrance to the elementary school. I abruptly stopped and then reversed, forcing the line of cars behind me to follow suit, a symphony of squealing brakes and honking horns.
“That was dangerous,” Lucy declared in her most censorious voice.
“Dangerous,” her younger brother chimed in.
“Sorry, sweeties.” I waved an apology to the other drivers as well, my hands sweaty on the steering wheel. For goodness’ sake, hold it together. I slowed the car, concentrating on not causing an accident in the queue of cars pulling up to the school’s front doors.
Kids were being ushered into the building and I got out just long enough to make sure Lucy joined the other third graders and to hand Matthew over to one of the kindergarten aides, a twentysomething young woman whose name I couldn’t remember. “Have a great day!” she said with a cheerful smile. It sounded ominous to me; I had to force a smile in return.
As I pulled out of the school I switched on the radio, rolling through stations for local news. A multi-car traffic accident on the Parkway East was top of the news, followed by a house fire in Brighton Heights. A shooting overnight—these words made me stiffen in my seat—but far away in Hazelwood, and they had the suspect in custody. I shut off the radio and called Julie. The phone rang and rang; just as I was about to hang up she answered. “Hi.” She sounded stilted, her voice higher than normal. “How are you?”
I broke into a sweat. “Is someone there?”
“Yes. Can I call you back?”
“Okay.” I hung up and immediately called Sarah.
She answered on the second ring. “Any word?”
“I think the police are at Julie’s.”
“What? They can’t be.”
“I just called her—she sounded odd and couldn’t talk.”
“It could be anybody,” Sarah said, but she sounded unsure. “There’s no reason the police would be there.”
“Unless Heather told them.”
“She wouldn’t do that—would she?”
“I’m on the road; I’ll drive by Julie’s house and see who’s there.”
There was an unfamiliar dark SUV parked in the driveway. It could be an unmarked car. The police could have sent someone to talk to her. What if Heather had told them? What if they were coming to my house next? I wanted to floor the accelerator and flee, but what if someone spotted me? As I drove slowly past I saw the realty-company logo on the car’s side. I sagged in my seat with relief and called Sarah back, feeling foolish.
“I knew it couldn’t be the police,” she said. “There’s been nothing on the news yet.”
We were both being careful not to say anything too direct, just in case someone was listening. “Do you think Heather’s got company?”
“Possibly. Look, we shouldn’t stay on the phone. Call if you hear anything and I’ll do the same.”
I didn’t want to hang up; I didn’t want to be
alone with my thoughts. After driving home, I made a cup of coffee. The sound of it pouring into the cup reminded me of the rushing noise of dark water in the creek. I closed my eyes and heard the splash of the gun.
Focus on work. I carried the coffee into my office and opened my laptop, trying to absorb myself in the projects that were piling up. I would work for thirty minutes before taking a break. I set a timer, one of the many tricks I’d learned long ago when I’d just started working from home and setting my own deadlines. It forced me to start, but I couldn’t concentrate. I kept thinking about Heather; we’d agreed that none of us could call her, not right away.
When twenty minutes had passed, I got online and checked the local news. Nothing; no mention even of a car being found. Shouldn’t someone have noticed the green Mercedes by now? It wasn’t as if we’d dumped it—him—out of the way, though maybe we should have. I ruminated yet again over what we’d done. It was stupid, just plain stupid to have tried to make it look like a carjacking. If we’d called the police first, if we’d waited with Heather and told them how scared she’d been, wouldn’t that have been smarter? But no, they wouldn’t have believed her, or believed any of us, not without some tangible proof. Sarah was right—she would have been charged with murdering Viktor. Why hadn’t Heather taken better photos? Why hadn’t we? We could have taken photos of her kitchen, for instance. Stupid, so stupid not to have thought of doing that, because we were so focused on convincing her to leave him.
It felt as if an enormous amount of time had passed, but when I glanced at the clock it was barely half past ten. I gave up and left my desk, circling around the house because I had too much nervous energy. At eleven, on impulse, I called my brother at work.
“Indiana Borough Police.” The desk sergeant’s voice was blandly professional.
“May I speak with Lieutenant Sean Novak, please?”
“One moment, I’ll put you through to his office.”
I almost hung up while the phone was ringing—what could I possibly ask him—but before I could he answered. “Hello, this is Lieutenant Novak.”
Just Between Us Page 12
