by Jason Starr
When he got out of the shower, just to reassure himself, he went online to see what he could find out about Xan Evonov. He expected to find a lot of information, even Xan’s own Web site—the guy was an artist, after all—but a Google search for the phrase “Xan Evonov” turned up zero results. Adam thought this was pretty strange. Why wouldn’t an artist have any information online? He’d said he hadn’t exhibited his work yet, but it seemed like everybody marketed themselves online nowadays, especially people in the arts—and didn’t he say he had a benefactor? There were hundreds of results for “Alexander Evonov,” but they were mostly in Russian, and the few in English had nothing to do with Xan.
Adam was trying another search engine when the doorbell rang. He figured it was reporters again, harassing him, and several seconds later when his mother called, “Adam!” he mumbled, “Goddamn it.” He’d told her not to answer the door for reporters under any circumstances; what was she doing? He headed downstairs, ready to explode.
It wasn’t a reporter, though. Detective Clements was standing there, and Adam had a feeling that went way beyond déjà vu.
“What’s going on?” Adam asked, hoping there was good news. Maybe there’d been a break in the case—Tony or someone else had been arrested.
But Clements, looking cold and serious, said, “I need to talk to you, Dr.
Bloom,” and Adam thought, Jesus, not again.
Adam said, “If you have news I’d appreciate it if you just told me what it is.
This is a very difficult time for me, obviously.”
“I understand, and I promise it won’t take long.”
“If you’re going to question me I don’t want to do it without my lawyer here.”
“That’s up to you,” Clements said, “but this isn’t formal questioning. I’m just doing some more information gathering. If you want to call your lawyer, you can, but I can’t hang around here waiting for him to show up. You’ll have to come down to the station with me.”
That was all Adam needed—if the reporters saw a detective taking him in for questioning, what stories would they write then? Adam figured he’d see how it went. If they were just basic questions, he’d answer them. If not, he’d call his lawyer.
They went into the dining room and sat in the same seats they’d sat in during Clements’s other interrogations—at the middle of the table, Clements directly across from Adam.
“You’re getting to be a pro at this, huh?” Clements asked. “I guess it’s to be expected when I’m a person of interest.”
Adam’s tone was dripping with sarcasm, but Clements either didn’t get it or wasn’t amused; he didn’t crack a smile.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “you’re not a suspect in the case.”
Adam didn’t believe him. “Really?” he said. “Do the reporters out there know that?”
“Like I said, this won’t take long. I just need to go over your whereabouts on Monday evening, from the time you left your office to the time of the nine-one-one call.”
“Are you kidding me?” Adam said. “We’ve been through all this how many times?”
“I understand, but we’re doing this with everyone involved in the case. We just need to make sure there are no discrepancies.”
“What about Tony’s whereabouts? Are you double and triple-checking his alibi?”
“Yes, we’re still talking to Tony, and we’re talking to a lot of other people. So you said you left your office at around six fifteen, is that correct?”
Adam told Clements pretty much verbatim what he’d told him the other day—he left his office, rode the subway to Forest Hills, stopped at the grocery store, discovered the body, and after several minutes called 911. He gave Clements the same estimated times he’d given during the previous questioning.
“Is it possible you shopped for less than ten minutes?” Clements asked. “No,” Adam said. “It was at least ten minutes, maybe closer to fifteen or
twenty. There was a woman complaining at the checkout counter.”
“So you’re saying that you got home no later than seven twenty-five or seven-thirty?”
“That’s an estimated time, but yes, that sounds about right.” Clements wrote this in his pad.
“Can I ask why my whereabouts are so important if I’m not a suspect?” Adam asked.
“Everything’s important in a murder investigation,” Clements said, not answering the question. Then he added, “We have to create an accurate time line for Monday night. Forensics has given us a probable time of death of between six thirty and seven thirty, so we think your wife was dead for less than an hour before the time you say you discovered her body. We have the reports of your neighbors’ German shepherd barking very loudly at approximately six thirty, which also fits into the time your wife was killed. We’re also talking to your neighbors and other people in the neighborhood to see if anyone saw—”
“I have to talk to you about that,” Adam said excitedly. “About your neighbors?”
“No, the dog,” Adam said. “I think I have some information you might find pretty . . . well, pretty damn interesting.”
He told Clements that the dog had barked at Xan earlier today and when he’d found the note from Tony, and that Xan had flirted with Dana a few nights before she was killed, and that there was strangely no information about Xan on the Internet. As Adam spoke, he thought the whole scenario sounded so flimsy, so outlandish, so circumstantial, that he was convinced Clements was going to laugh the whole thing off.
So he was surprised when he was through and Clements asked very seriously, “So why do you think Xan would forge notes pretending to be Tony?”
“That part I can’t figure out,” Adam said. “I admit there are holes in all of this, but I wanted to tell you anyway because there’re other things that seem . . . I don’t know, it’s just I hardly know this guy. My daughter’s only been dating him for about a week.”
“If I’d known this the other day I would’ve questioned him. He was the long-haired guy who was here when I was interviewing your daughter, right?”
Adam nodded and said, “If I’d even remotely thought about any of this, of course I would’ve told you about it then.”
“Did she start dating him before or after you received the first note?” Adam thought about it for a few seconds, then said, “After, I think.”
“Well, this definitely sounds like something we should look into. It might go nowhere, but throughout my career dogs have sometimes given me my biggest leads. In fact, I used to work for the canine unit.”
“Really?” Actually, Adam couldn’t care less about Clements’s career, but he was glad to be on his good side and not be treated as a suspect, at least for the moment.
“Yeah, for five years,” Clements said. “You really get attached to dogs, and they’re great to work with, a lot easier to work with than the human partners I’ve had, I’ll tell you that much. They’re even easier to get along with than a couple of my ex-wives.”
Adam forced a smile.
Clements went on, “The interesting thing is that Tony has continued to deny writing either of those notes so, yeah, everything’s worth looking into. Where’s Xan now?”
“With my daughter. They should be back at his place in Brooklyn by now.” “Do you have a phone number or an address for Xan?”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t. But Marissa said he lives in Red Hook.” “That’s okay, we’ll get his info. Can you just spell his name for me?”
Adam spelled Xan’s full name for Clements and told him to also look under the first name Alexander. As Clements was writing that down, Adam said, “So if the same person wrote both of the notes and that person wasn’t Tony, it’s possible that the same person who wrote the notes broke into my house.”
“Anything’s possible,” Clements said.
“So maybe you should see if there’s a connection between Xan and Carlos Sanchez. I think that’s pretty remote, but—”
“Don’t worry, w
e’ll check out everything,” Clements said, getting up and putting the pad away. “By the way, Dr. Bloom, are you right-handed or lefthanded?”
“Right-handed.”
“Thanks very much, Doctor. I’ll be in touch with you again soon.”
Clements left, but his last question lingered. Adam figured it must’ve been forensics related; maybe they’d figured out, or were trying to figure out, whether the killer was a righty or a lefty. Well, so much for not feeling like a suspect. That had lasted for, what, a minute?
Adam’s mother had been eavesdropping on the conversation from the other room—why wasn’t Adam surprised?—and she said, “See, he doesn’t think checking out Xan is so crazy. I told you, I got a bad feeling about him.”
“What can I say?” Adam said. “Maybe you should become a cop.” “Maybe I should,” she said seriously. “But what about Marissa?” “What about her?”
“I don’t like that she’s alone with Xan.”
“Yeah, me neither, but as soon as the police find his address I’m sure they won’t dilly-dally. They’ll send somebody right over there.”
“I think you should at least call her and let her know what’s going on. Better yet, tell her to come home. Tell her we want her here.”
“How’m I supposed to do that?”
“Please, just do it. I really want her here with us right now.”
While Adam knew his mother was overreacting, he was concerned about her getting too upset, what with her heart condition. Besides, he’d rather have Marissa home with them right now, too.
From his BlackBerry, he called her cell. “Hello,” Marissa said.
“Where are you?” Adam asked. “At Xan’s, what’s up?”
“Is he there with you right now?” “Yeah, why?”
“Can you go into another room for a second please?”
“Why? What’s going on?” There was panic in her voice.
“Nothing bad,” he assured her. “I just need to talk to you in private for a second.”
Marissa took a deep breath, then another. “What is it?” “Are you in another room?”
“Yes.” She was annoyed.
“We want you to come home,” Adam said. “Why?”
“Because Grandma and I want you here, that’s why.” “What for?”
“We just do, okay?”
“Look, I told you, I need some space—”
“Please don’t argue with me about this, Marissa. I want you to come home— without Xan.”
“Why can’t I bring Xan?” “Can he hear you?”
“No, but why did you—”
“Please try to keep your voice down. I just want you here, okay? I want the whole family to be together. Just the family.” He knew this explanation was flimsy, but it was the best he could come up with.
“I’m not coming home, and I can’t believe you. You scared me. I thought there was some emergency or something.”
Adam shook his head and looked at his mother, who stage-whispered, “Tell her.”
“Look, you can’t tell Xan about this, but there’s something going on with the police, okay?”
“Why can’t I tell Xan?” “Keep your voice down.”
“Why’re you being so mysterious?” “They want to talk to him, okay?” “To Xan?”
“Yes.”
After a short silence, Marissa asked, “Why?”
“I’m sure it’ll all be routine, but we’d rather you were here, so please don’t argue with me.”
Adam’s mother said, “Come home, Marissa,” probably loud enough that Marissa could hear.
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Marissa said. “What does Xan have to do with anything, and why’re you both freaking out?”
“We’re not freaking out,” Adam said. “There’re just some things I’ve been concerned about, and—”
“Wait, you did this?”
“I didn’t do anything—”
“What did you tell the police about Xan?” “Can he hear you?”
“You’ll say anything, won’t you? Now what’re you trying to do, say that Xan killed Mom?”
“I said keep your goddamn voice down,” Adam said, raising his own voice. “You’re pathetic, you know that? I can’t believe you’re doing this.” “There’re things you don’t know, okay? Things that seem very strange—” “Strange, that’s a good one. You know what seems strange to me? You. Yeah,
you. The way you acted last week, on your big ego trip, then everything that happened with Mom, and now trying to blame my boyfriend, who I’m in love with. You’re the one I should be staying away from.”
“Marissa, plea—”
“Just leave me the hell alone.”
“Marissa . . . Marissa? . . . Marissa?” He realized she wasn’t there. “Damn it.”
“What is it?” his mother asked. “She hung up on me.”
“Call her back.”
Adam tried but got her voice mail. “Shit. Goddamn it.”
“What?”
“I think she turned her phone off.”
“Oh my God, so now how’re we supposed to get in touch with her?” “Okay, let’s try to stay rational here. You’re getting very carried away, okay?
There’s nothing to panic about. It’s not like she’s in any danger.” “How do you know?”
“Let’s just wait, okay? Clements is probably on his way over there. The police have ways to—”
Adam’s landline rang. The display read restricted. “Who is it?” Adam’s mother asked.
“I don’t know,” Adam said. He picked up and said, “Hello?”
“Dr. Bloom.”
“Hi, Detective Clements,” Adam said so his mother would know who was calling.
“Is it possible Xan has a roommate or uses another name besides the one you gave me?” Clements asked.
“Not that I know of,” Adam said. “Why?”
“We can’t find any listing for him in the entire city. There’s an Alexander Evonov in Brighton Beach, but you said he was living in Red Hook, right?”
“That’s what I understood.”
“It’s probably a different guy, but we’ll check it out. In the meantime, can you call your daughter?”
“I’m trying to reach her.”
“When you do, can you get Xan’s address and let me know it right away?” Adam said he would.
With his mother hovering over him, Adam called Marissa several times and kept getting her voice mail before the first ring. There was no doubt her phone was off.
“Okay, let’s not panic, okay?” Adam said. “It didn’t sound like Clements was panicking. He probably knows that this whole idea of Xan having anything to do with any of this is very far out.”
“And what if you’re wrong? What if Xan killed Dana? What if he’s some kind of maniac?”
“Don’t worry, she’ll be fine,” Adam said. “I’m absolutely sure of it.”
“OH, GOD, that man is beyond annoying,” Marissa said to Xan. “Can you believe he told the police to talk to you? What is wrong with him?”
They were on Xan’s couch, in the middle of the afternoon. He was holding her hand, caressing the inside of her wrist with his fingertips.
“Why would he tell the police to talk to me? I mean, I was with you when you talked to that cop, and if the cop wanted to ask me anything he would’ve asked me right then.”
“I know,” Marissa said. “But I have to admit it, it scares me.”
“Scares you how?”
“I think my dad’s getting desperate. Why else would he bring you, of all people, into it? Next thing he’ll be telling the police to talk to my freaking grandmother.”
“So you think he’s trying to take the blame away from himself?”
“Exactly. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to handle this—if my father really killed my mother.”
“Shh, don’t worry, you’ll get through it,” Xan said, squeezing her hand.
“I don’t want to see h
im again,” she said. “The sound of his voice just . . . just disgusts me.”
“Does he know where I live?” Xan asked.
“My father? I’m not sure. Why?”
“I just wonder if he gave the police my address, that’s all.”
“I didn’t tell him,” Marissa said, “but I guess the police will find you anyway. I’m so sorry my father’s dragging you into this, after all you’ve done for me, just being here for me. You’ve been so great.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Xan said, “you’re the only thing I’m concerned about. Is your phone off?”
Marissa nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Keep it off. You don’t need any more stressful phone calls today.” He kissed her gently on the cheek and then said, “How about something to drink? Water, Diet Coke?”
“Diet Coke would be great.”
He kissed her on the cheek again and then went to the kitchen area. She remained on the couch, ruminating about the phone call with her father, and then her gaze drifted toward the easel and one of Xan’s latest paintings. It was a large, abstract piece, and he’d used only red paint. He’d done a few other similar ones and had hung them on the wall. Maybe it was because he’d arranged the paintings in a group, but they really seemed to make a statement. For the first time she thought he actually had potential as an artist.
“I love your new paintings,” she said.
“Really?” he said as he poured the soda into a glass.
“Yeah, especially the one you’re working on now. It has so much emotion and passion. When did you paint these?”
