The Night in Question

by Nic Joseph

  Detective Puhl stared into the camera, and I got the sense that she was sending a message. She was saying loud and clear that she—not the police department as an entity, but she herself—would get to the bottom of it.

  And I’d be damned if I didn’t believe her.

  I leaned forward, engrossed in the report, when the picture suddenly disappeared, and I was staring at a familiar face. It was an actor, and it took me a moment to realize that Keith had changed the channel to an old episode of Modern Family. I turned to him in outrage and saw that he was leaning back on the couch, the remote control in his hand. He laughed out loud at something that was said, then turned and looked at me mid-chuckle. He stopped laughing and frowned when he saw my face.

  “What?” he asked. “Oh, were you watching that?”

  Beverly was dead.

  “Yes!” I said too loudly, and I swallowed. “Sorry. I mean yes, I was. That sounded…horrible.”

  “The lady on the Gold Coast?” he asked. “Uh, yeah, it was super depressing. That’s why I changed it.”

  I felt a surge of anger at his flippant attitude, but I held it back and spoke through pursed lips. “Do you mind turning back?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” he said. He raised the remote and flipped in the wrong direction, going up instead of down, and I honestly wanted to throw something at him. “Oops,” he said with another chuckle, thumbing down back to the news.

  He landed on the station again, but by then, the news had moved on to a story about a burglary on the train. I blinked a few times, staring at the screen, my palms sweaty.

  “Guess it’s done,” Keith said. “Maybe it’s on somewhere else.”

  He went back to flipping, and I continued to sit there, my entire body frozen, my mind reeling at what I’d just learned.

  It didn’t make any sense.

  It had happened late Saturday night, which meant—

  I stood up quickly, and Keith looked up at me, his forehead scrunched together.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Be right back.”

  Shelby stood up as I walked by her and then settled back down as I walked into the bedroom and shut the door.

  No, no, no, no.

  I picked my laptop up off the dresser and carried it over to the bed before sitting down. I could hear Keith laughing at something in the living room, and I still fumed over how quickly the news of Beverly’s death had gone in one ear and out the other for him. I wasn’t judging him for it. I’m sure I’d done the same thing many times before—watched the news at night and seen horrible deaths and fires, then gone on to turn to whatever sitcom came on and cackled just as loudly.

  But this time was different.

  I couldn’t accept that somebody had killed her, right upstairs, later that night, after I’d drunkenly made my way home—

  I gasped as a thought crossed my mind.

  Had it been after I left? I didn’t know how long, exactly, I’d lain on the carpet in Emma’s apartment. What if it had happened while—

  I closed my eyes and put the laptop on the bed. Placing both hands on my knees, I forced myself to take long, slow, deep breaths until the panic subsided. Picking the computer up again, I navigated to Google and typed in her name. A handful of news articles popped up, all posted within the last forty-five minutes.

  WOMAN’S BODY FOUND IN GOLD COAST APARTMENT

  PROMINENT CHICAGO LAWYER FOUND DEAD IN APARTMENT

  One of the articles contained the same video I’d just watched of the detective. I played it again and watched as Detective Puhl stared out into the crowd.

  The article went on to include a quote from Beverly’s parents, who lived in Tucson.

  “Beverly was the love of our lives, our only child,” her mother was quoted as saying. “I ask you all to respect our privacy during this tragic period.”

  Then there was a person from her law firm, crying into the camera, which I’d missed when Keith flipped the channel.

  “Beverly was one of the best of the best, a lawyer with the highest integrity. Beyond that, she was a great friend and person who really cared about people.”

  My hands were shaking as I read the same stories over and over again. Beverly’s law firm would be holding a memorial at a local church the next day. I thought about the detective’s words as she looked into the camera.

  To anyone who has any information at all, I invite you to come forward.

  I felt ill and put the computer down on the bed beside me again, lying back until the wave of nausea passed.

  Detective Puhl could’ve been talking directly to me, but what could I come forward and say? What exactly could I tell them about that night? How much could I share about Hooks without giving away the fact that I had a duffel bag filled with his money sitting in my bathroom closet?

  I sucked in a breath and tried to focus.

  Think, Paula.

  I picked up my computer again and navigated back to the news article with the video of Detective Puhl. I started it from the beginning, watching as she stood behind the podium with her chin raised and shoulders squared. The expression in her eyes was sharp and discerning, but there was something else there too. Sadness? Compassion?

  Maybe if I went and told her the truth, she’d cut me some slack for doing the right thing?

  The video continued to play, and I watched with glazed eyes as the scenes changed in front of my face. Every time the report showed the picture of Beverly—a corporate headshot that appeared to be several years old—I felt my stomach turn over.

  Then I saw something that made it drop.

  The video had reached the point where Beverly’s coworker was being interviewed. The woman appeared on the screen, and then the station flashed quickly to an image of the office building in downtown Chicago. The law firm loomed large on the city street, but it wasn’t the impressive structure that struck me. The camera zoomed into the emblem of the company’s name and logo emblazoned on the wall.

  Baker & Pikensy.

  I rewound it twice, watching for the moment when the camera zoomed in on the building, and I let the name of the law firm turn over in my mind.

  Baker & Pikensy.

  I repeated it again to myself.

  Baker & Pikensy?

  Where had I heard that name before?

  When it hit me, I almost dropped the laptop on the floor.

  I felt a lump growing in my throat as the memories from the past week flooded back. I opened another tab and typed in some of the terms I’d searched for the night after I found the phone.

  But this time, I got more specific.

  “Ryan Hooks sexual harassment case.”

  The long list of articles came up, and I scrolled through them, looking for one of the articles I’d seen that night.

  It took me a few minutes, but I found it, the link still a dimmed-out purple from where I’d clicked it a few days ago. I gasped out loud as the article confirmed what I’d already known.

  Baker & Pikensy.

  It was an article about Amanda Strager, the woman who’d accused Ryan of sexual harassment four years ago.

  Hooks’s lawyer quoted in the article had worked for…

  Baker & Pikensy.

  I shut the laptop, breathing heavily.

  I knew Bev was a lawyer, but it had never occurred to me to wonder what kind of law.

  And it had also never occurred to me that Hooks might have known someone else at the Oak Street apartment that night.

  Fuck.

  Chapter 23

  I spent much of the twelve hours after I got the news about Beverly pinching myself to see if it was all real.

  It seemed that I should be able to blink a few times and wake myself up from this dark, shaky nightmare. When I finally accepted it, I felt an overbearing sadness
for something so permanent, so final.

  I didn’t really know Beverly.

  But she was a real person, with a real family, and real dreams, and a real life, and now…

  She was gone.

  I tried to make sense of it as I sat alone in the bedroom Monday morning. Randy had picked Keith up to go to a pre-meet practice, and Keith had kissed me on the way out the door. The feel of his lips against mine had been strange but comforting in a way he couldn’t imagine, and I almost broke down in front of him right then. But I held it together and waved goodbye, then slumped back into bed after he left.

  I lay back in the bed, opened Twitter, and searched for Ryan. He hadn’t posted since last week. I wondered where he was and what he was doing right then. His show in Dallas was coming up in a few days… Had he left already? Was he still at his hotel?

  I’d looked up everything I could about Baker & Pikensy. Beverly had interned there out of law school and had worked at the firm for her entire career. I couldn’t find any evidence that she’d worked on Amanda Strager’s sexual harassment case, though I had found a picture of her smiling next to Hooks’s lawyer. And then I found another article that made me pause.

  LAW FIRM DROPS HOOKS FOLLOWING SECOND ASSAULT CHARGE

  Another one?

  That and the fact that he’d been at the apartment on Saturday night—somebody needed to tell the police.

  But certainly not me?

  That was problem number one. I couldn’t very well go in and talk to the police, not after what I’d done. I had a bag full of cash in my bathroom, cash that did not belong to me, and only an idiot would walk into a police station to talk about it.

  But could I keep quiet about this?

  If only there was a way I could—

  Of course there was a way!

  I grabbed my phone and did a quick search for anonymous tip Chicago police.

  The first thing that came up was TXT2TIP. All I had to do was compose a text, and it would be sent anonymously to the police. It was worth a try. Taking a deep breath, I typed out a message:

  Ryan Hooks was at 115 W. Oak Street on the night Beverly Brighton was murdered. He was also there one week prior. I witnessed this myself.

  I hovered over the Send button for a moment before clicking it.

  Problem number two was just as easy to solve but felt a lot more problematic. Dr. Reveno had sent over the confidentiality forms he needed us to sign, along with a bill to begin work.

  So happy to be working with you, he’d written in the message. We’ll need to get moving if we’re going to make the eighteen-month deadline.

  I opened the email and navigated to the payment link, my mind on the money in my bathroom closet.

  Without giving myself time to think about all the reasons I shouldn’t do it, I scrolled down to the bottom of the screen and clicked Pay Now.

  • • •

  I went to work a late shift at the diner. It was quiet, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that Vanessa was out; I didn’t know if I could continue to keep all this from her. I walked to the back of the diner and picked up the phone. I needed to talk to Emma, but I couldn’t afford to use my own cell phone.

  Not after everything that had happened.

  I dialed her number, and it rang several times before going to voicemail. Sighing, I hung up and went back to work, focusing on the handful of customers who came in. It wasn’t the best distraction, but it would do. When I finally left, it was dark outside, and I drove home slowly.

  I pulled into a parking space and shut off the car.

  It had been a long day, and I wanted to sit in the car for a while before heading in to talk to Keith.

  I was about to open the door when I saw movement by the passenger door of my car.

  I sucked in a breath, and suddenly, the door flew open, and a figure slid inside.

  The doors had unlocked immediately when I parked, a feature that I was usually pretty paranoid about—I typically either got out of the car immediately or locked them again while I gathered my things.

  My mind reeled back to when I was younger and first learning how to drive.

  “Always look in your back seat before you get into the car,” my father had said.

  I remembered rolling my eyes and brushing off his warnings. “You don’t think I would notice if someone was camping out in my back seat?” I asked.

  “It’s possible if you’re not looking, especially at night,” he’d said seriously. “Also, if you ever end up driving in a deserted place and a cop tries to pull you over—”

  “I know, I know,” I had said, exasperated, my hands on the wheel of his gray Buick Skyhawk, itching to end the safety lessons and just drive. “Put on my hazards and drive slowly to a crowded place.”

  “Exactly,” he had said. “And—”

  “Dad.”

  “One more thing,” he had said, holding up a hand. “If you’re ever sitting in your car for any reason, just do me a favor and make sure your doors are locked.”

  “Duh, Dad.”

  Whether it was the stress from the day or my general lack of focus recently, I’d neglected to lock the doors again when I shut off the car. As the man got in my car, I was so paralyzed with fear that I didn’t move, didn’t think to scramble out the other side, didn’t think to do anything.

  And then I saw who it was.

  Ryan Hooks.

  In my car.

  Again.

  He closed the door behind him and turned to look at me.

  The scream was at the back of my throat when he put a hand up and spoke.

  “I just want to talk to you,” he said.

  “How did you—”

  “I went to see your husband.”

  “You what?” I asked, all thoughts of running fleeing. “Why did you do that?”

  “I went to talk about the piece he’s going to do for me.”

  “You asshole,” I muttered, my body tense and ready to fight. “You had no right to do that.”

  “And you had no right to blackmail me,” he spat back. He took a deep breath and pushed back his hoodie. He looked a lot different than he had the other two times I had met him; his eyes were tired, and his beard had grown in considerably in the last couple of days. “He was so upset that you weren’t there to meet me. Nice guy actually.”

  “What the hell do you want?” I asked, cutting him off.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I was leaving, and I saw you pull up. I just want to talk.”

  “You already said that. What about?”

  I still had one hand on the door, and I watched him carefully. I could make a run for it, but after an entire day of thinking about him, I found that I was interested in what he had to say.

  Hooks stared back at me, and there was both anger and exhaustion in his eyes. “I want to know why you called the police,” he finally said.

  I swallowed and then slumped back even farther against the car door.

  He knew?

  A thousand thoughts ran through my head. Should I deny it?

  Pretend I had no idea what he was talking about?

  Admit it?

  Clarify that I hadn’t actually called them—I’d texted them?

  I paused for too long, and he jumped in.

  “There’s no use in denying it,” he said. “They called me and said that an anonymous tip had come in, stating that I’d been at the apartment building on the night that woman died. Emma’s apartment building.”

  “I didn’t specifically accuse you,” I said, stumbling over my words. “But they needed to know you were there that night. And that Beverly worked at the same law firm—”

  “I had nothing to do with her death,” he spat out, the words clipped, the anger on par with what I’d seen the night of his concert. “And I can�
��t believe you went to the cops. Since part of the reason I gave you that money was for you to keep your fucking mouth closed.”

  “About the fact that you’re sleeping with a Chicago socialite,” I snapped back. “Not about…not about…”

  “About what?” he asked. He was staring at me with anger and disgust, and I suddenly felt scared again. “You don’t know anything, so you should keep your stupid mouth shut. How is that so hard? I thought we had an agreement.”

  “That was before all this,” I said. “I saw you there. You know I did.”

  He exhaled.

  “So what if I was there?” he said. “That doesn’t mean I killed somebody. Are you nuts? Calling the cops like that. It was the stupidest thing you could’ve done.”

  I frowned as I watched him. I thought back to the YouTube videos I’d watched where he’d been so charming, so funny, so put-together. Now, he seemed unhinged, his entire body shaking, his anger taking up too much space in the car. I leaned back against the driver’s side door, wondering if I could open it and get out before he could reach across the gear shift and pull me back.

  His hands were balled into fists on his lap, but then he reached up and slammed them down on the dashboard.

  I jumped, my heart racing.

  “You need to stop calling the cops,” he said. “I thought we were in this together.”

  “In what together?” I asked. “I didn’t have anything to do with the other night.”

  “I know,” he said. “Not that, and neither did I. I’m talking about the whole thing with Emma. That’s the only reason I’m not turning you in, because Tiffane can’t find out about it. But if you keep doing stupid shit…I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  He seemed to be breaking down, his voice filled less with anger and now with desperation. I didn’t know if I should be scared or feel sorry for him. I just knew that I wanted him gone. His chest was heaving, up and down, and I could see that he was struggling to regain control.

  “I gave you that money, and the whole point was for you to keep your mouth shut.” He opened the door and got out. Before he closed the door, Hooks dipped his head and leaned back into the car, staring me directly in the eye.