The next morning I have an appointment downtown with Will. I don’t feel like dragging out more dark details and explanations the way I have already done with Detective Sterling multiple times. All I can think of is Rebecca, and when I see Ellie calling, my thoughts turn to my mother.
She’s already playing games. She made it sound like seeing me was urgent, and now she’s telling me not to come until Sunday. Four days to wonder, four days to suppress that naive glint of hope that maybe she’s getting clean and she knows how much I need her right now, and just maybe she’ll say she wants to come and stay with me the way I’ve asked so many times, and she’ll sit at the fire with me and tell me what to do with a parent’s inimitable wisdom. Even in my thirties, I feel like I need an adult—like I’m still a child, navigating a scary world of police and lawyers that I have no business being a part of yet.
Probably, though, she will put me off again and will eventually cancel the visit, or most likely, she got ahold of some money and is on a binge for a few days. I’ll never be able to explain to Ellie, because I’ll never understand myself why a mother who spilled blood for us, nursed us from her own body, sacrificed comfort and hours and days of her time and attention, could change her mind. And I can’t explain why I still want to see her so desperately, and why I can’t find the apathy that Ellie has discovered, out of necessity, and then skillfully mastered.
I decide to walk the three miles to Will’s office. Winter is trying its best to announce itself, but yesterday’s flurries have turned into a misty rain, and autumn leaves whisper around my ankles as I cross the street from the condo and stop at Brew House to buy a cup of coffee for my walk. I shake off my umbrella under the awning and see Marty standing in the rain in front of our building with Figgy at the end of his leash, sniffing around the iron fence, refusing to pee. He doesn’t have an umbrella, and he looks like the saddest person in the world, alone, drenched. I wave, but he’s not looking.
When I get my coffee and go outside, he’s down the block, hopelessly trying to get his dog to do its business, but I do see Hilly in an enormous red parka, heading right over to the coffee shop as I exit. I quickly, almost involuntarily, make a left and then duck back into the lobby of the condo to wait until she’s out of sight. I feel ridiculous hiding from a lonely cat lady. I truly need to get a grip, but I cannot have her corner me and invite herself up to get her meat loaf dish right now.
I stand next to the row of mailboxes in the lobby as I peer out the little window waiting for the coast to be clear. I decide to check my mail. I stab the tiny key in the lock and expect a handful of coupons and credit card offers, but then I see something that makes me gasp.
There is a white envelope with my name on it sticking out of the crease on top of the box. No address. It was hand delivered. My hands flutter as I open it and pull out its contents. My mind is trying to make sense of what I see as I stand there, still, staring down at what’s inside. It’s a scrap of paper ripped out of a book. It reads:
Secure your new home:
Consider new window and door locks, outdoor lights, an alarm system, steel doors and smoke detectors.
This snippet is part of a bullet list from my book Someone’s Listening. The person has ripped out this phrase. I can still see the page number and the watermark of my name on the top corner. I actually wrote this list in both my books because it’s a resource page for victims, a list of tips to help them escape harm and secure the safety they once had. This was just one of many tips in a bigger list. My heart is in my throat. Why would someone send this to me? My arms and legs are charged and tingling. This is a threat.
I look around a moment, as if the person would be standing right there, then I push the envelope down in my coat pocket and rush outside. When I look up, I see that Hilly is standing across the street in front of the coffee shop, looking at me. She gives me a wave, her body language odd, like she was staring at me hard and then pretended she just noticed me when she saw me notice her. Did I see that right? I don’t wave back. I decide I need to drive instead, and I round the building to the back lot and get in my car. I try to catch my breath and slow my heart. One, two, three, four. When I catch my breath, I drive. I need to show this to Will.
In the car I call Sterling. All Will is going to tell me is to make sure the detective knows what’s going on, so before I even get to him, I call, hoping this information goes a long way in starting to clear my name.
“Dr. Finley, hello.” Sterling answers the phone in a friendly voice.
“Hi—um... I wanted to give you some information that might be helpful,” I say, trying to mask my trembling voice.
“Oh? Are you all right?” he asks.
“Yes, fine. I think... I think that there may have been...an affair.” I can’t believe I have to say this out loud, and I resent Liam for putting me in this position, but if I offer this information now, it is less likely to look like I knew and covered it up.
“I think maybe Liam...it looks like...he may have been talking to someone. I guess I’m telling you because I don’t know of anyone else who would—I’m sure you’d want to know—to talk to her, is what I’m trying to say.” I take a deep breath and make a right on Lakeshore Drive.
“I appreciate that. We have been looking into that possibility,” he says.
“What does that mean? Like in general you’ve been looking for evidence of an affair?” I’m angry because it makes it seem like they hope there is one, so they can nail me for a revenge or jealousy motive.
“When we took his work laptop into evidence, they examined the hard drive and his email and social accounts. There were some messages that could be interpreted as...romantic in nature, so we have been in contact with the sender of the messages.”
On one hand, it’s good they’re actually trying to find answers, and I’m sort of impressed that they got that far already on a case that seems cold from the get-go, considering how long it was before he was found. On the other hand, the fact that they saw every exchange between us, every intimate, sweet instant message or email over the years, along with every curt “whatever” or “ I don’t care” at the tail end of a petty fight, is sickening. I’m sure they dissected my every word in hopes of finding some misstep that pointed to my culpability.
“Rebecca Lang? You’ve already talked to her? What the hell did she say? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss any details.” He pauses, and I wonder if he’s going to say “with a suspect.”
“Well, I got a threat in the mail today. A page torn out of the book I wrote, stuck in my mailbox with no address, just left there.” I explain what it said, and that it was part of a resource list for victims. His silence gives away his surprise at this. I thought he was so sure it was me, he’d be dismissive, but he isn’t.
“If that’s the case, you may not be safe there. Anyone who really wanted to could easily find out where you live. Do you have family or friends you can stay with awhile?” he asks.
“No. I’m not gonna leave.” I don’t explain that the house in Sugar Grove has an offer on it and is basically sold, that my sister is in a two-bedroom with two young kids, and that my mother is a junky currently on a bender. I don’t tell him that I used to have friends, but I don’t think I do anymore.
“I can stop by and take a look at your security setup. We’ll want to get that letter into evidence also.” He sounds genuinely concerned.
“Okay,” I say softly, angry that he has information he can’t tell me.
“Are you somewhere safe now?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Faith, this is nothing to take lightly. I can’t force you, but I highly recommend you try to find a place to stay for a while,” he says. I can hear his radio in the background with muffled dispatch voices calling for available units here and there.
“I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
Will’s office is cold and quiet. I’m annoyed that he’s too busy to give me his focus for more than a few minutes at a time. After I tell him about the letter, he’s called away a moment by a serious-looking senior partner carrying a towering stack of files in his arms. He says he’ll be right back and steps out. I wait and listen to the sound of the rain tapping on his wall of windows. The city looks hazy and sleepy in the overcast day. I want to be home, in front of the fire, with a drink and a Great British Baking Show marathon. Alone. I want to be out of the damp, away from the burden of saying the same thing again and again to people who try to hide that fragment of doubt in their eyes that they can’t fully conceal because they still wonder about me even if they don’t want to. He comes back with an apologetic look. He pulls his chair up next to mine.
“I looked through all of the police reports and everything you’ve stated, and now, well, with this, I wonder... I’m not saying this to scare you, but have you considered that Liam wasn’t the target?” he asks.
“What do you mean?” I ask. I have not considered this. I’ve spent months of my life focusing on finding him, and now I’m focusing on who would hurt him, and of course it crossed my mind that it could have to do with me, like if it were Carter, or a jealous lover, but not that they got the wrong person.
“Faith, I mean, it looks like from the police files, it was assumed that you were under the influence and hit a tree, and that Liam left on his own.”
“Yes, they thought he was never in the car. That we fought, he left. I got loaded and hit a tree, and filing him missing was a desperate attempt to get back a man who was literally running from me. It’s written a bit more kindly, but that’s the general idea. Now, I guess the part where we fought means I killed him and then drove loaded and hit a tree.” I’m not hiding my anger.
“Well, I believe what you’re telling me. I’m on your side here. So, when you say there was another driver, coming head-on and you had to swerve, let’s assume for a second that it wasn’t an accident.” He speaks softly, carefully. My eyes dart as I try to digest what he’s proposing.
“You think someone was trying to kill me.” This seems crazy, but just for a moment, and then I can’t believe I haven’t really thought about that before.
“You were driving. If they came at you head-on, sure, it could have been an accident, but you’d been all over the media. You had death threats on Twitter, among other places. Some believed you’d done something unthinkable. Now, you’re getting more tangible threats. I think we should at least consider it as a possibility. The more I look at statements, evidence, all of it, the more I think we need to make sure you have a safe plan for yourself.”
“Oh my God.” If that’s true, Liam’s death was because of me. I can’t even think about that.
“Do you have a security system?” he asks.
“Uh, I mean, no, but the building is gated. It’s safe.” I look out the window. My mind is reeling. Am I in danger? Could some crazed person who posts in the comments section really be on a mission to kill me? It seems so far-fetched, but there are senseless shootings damn near every day. There are a lot of crazies. I don’t know what else to say.
“My grandma could get over that gate,” he jokes, but neither of us laugh.
“Can you stay...” He starts to make suggestions like Sterling did, but I don’t let him finish.
“I’m not moving again. There’s no one to stay with,” I say curtly. I’m not going to defend staying at the condo. But if this is all true, I’m not going to put Ellie in danger, or anyone else for that matter. The fifth floor of a busy, centrally located building is as safe as I’m going to get.
“Okay, then will you get an alarm at least? You need a security system,” he says matter-of-factly.
“I’ll get a security system.”
“And you should check in with me or Sterling daily,” he says, waiting for me to look at him. I pick up my coat and stand.
“Okay,” I agree. “But I’m still a suspect?”
“Look, you were in the hospital when the pings on his phone happened and when his credit card was used. There’s no gun, no evidence of you ever owning one, I mean. There is nothing to show you helped plan something like this. You have clean phone and computer records, so...” But he doesn’t say that I’m not a suspect.
“But I still am?”
“It looks good for you, Faith, but you were the last one to see him under very strange circumstances, so until they know more, you won’t be completely off their radar. The incident at the book signing points away from you also, so that’s...”
“What incident? What do you mean?” I ask, confused. His face goes pale, and he suddenly looks ill. He didn’t mean to say that.
“I didn’t think it would be helpful for you to know right now, but in light of the letter you got...maybe...”
“What, for God’s sake?”
“In the bathroom, at the party, Liam saw a copy of your book in the urinal. Someone had, uh, defaced your photo. You know, the photo on the back of the book jacket,” he says uneasily.
“Defaced?” I realize that must be why Liam had the sudden mood change and wanted to leave that night.
“Yeah, they made a...mark, I guess. A slit on your neck. And...urinated on the book.”
“Jesus Christ,” I say, louder than intended.
“I don’t know if Liam thought it was a threat, or some kids, or maybe just a nutjob who was on Team Carter and came by to make a passive intimidating gesture. I don’t know. He pushed past me and left.”
“And you thought, let’s keep this from Faith? Seems like a great idea right now!” I am pissed, almost seething.
“I get that you’re angry.”
“Yeah, I’m fucking angry, Will. Why would you leave that out?”
“Listen, Sterling doesn’t tell me any privileged information he wouldn’t tell you. There must be a strategic reason he’s not saying anything, but I didn’t want to—you have so incredibly much to deal with, and at the time it happened, it seemed like an asshole prank. I told the detectives about it back when they questioned me. It didn’t seem significant at the time.”
“But, since I’m still a suspect, they don’t tell me much.”
“How much they disclose to you depends on a lot of things.” I stare at him. He stops. “Okay, I should have told you. As a friend.”
“I don’t need you protecting me. I just need the whole truth.” I try to take in a breath on a four count to keep calm without him noticing. One, two, three, four. I look at the ceiling a moment, then exhale.
“The good news is, it helps us. It shows a pattern of threats. So, as far as helping your name get cleared, it’s a good thing. As far as your safety goes, I’m concerned.”
“Well, I appreciate that, but I’m fine.” I know he sees me close off. He knows my propensity for isolating myself and shutting down. He takes my hand.
“You’re not alone. Really. I don’t want you to worry. Just lie low for a little while, and we will get this figured out. I promise.” He moves his hand to my shoulder and meets my eyes.
“Okay,” I say, really at a loss for anything else. I’m overwhelmed by everything he’s just told me.
“Thanks, Will.” I open the door to leave his office. He looks at me as if he wants to say more.
“Why don’t we get dinner this weekend?” he says.
“Dinner?” I’m not in the mood for socializing, and I don’t get why he’s asking.
“Strictly professional, of course. We can discuss all this in more detail, no interruption for once.” He gives me that familiar Will smile. At first I open my mouth to say that I can’t, the way I’ve done with every invitation over the last several months, but I don’t. I feel like he believes me, and I want so badly to be believed the way only Ellie truly believes me. It’s nice to be around someone who knows me as well as Liam did, and from whom I don’t get pity looks.
“Yeah, that sounds good. Just let me know where,” I say, and he helps me on with my coat. As I start my way down the hall to the elevator, he hollers, “A security system. Promise me.” He gives a head tilt that looks parental, an “I mean it” sort of gesture. I nod.
“I will,” I say and disappear into the elevator. And I do mean it.
I drive to Liberty Firearms on the west side of town, poorly placed between a liquor store and a seedy gentleman’s club.
They’re right. There is “no evidence that I’ve owned a gun before.” I haven’t. But now I walk in and purchase a security system, as promised.
A .38 Special.