Fletcher and Eric sat begrudgingly at their desks—Fletcher just wanting to go home and Eric overdue at whatever bar he went to before CJ's—staring at Fletcher's computer screen. He had it turned so they could both review Renee's interview. It would be a while yet before the other detectives finished their work cataloging the scene of the crime, and he knew Frey would want to go over everything while it was still fresh in everyone's minds.
"Come on…" Eric said in a moan. "I'm missing some primetime!"
"It's Monday night," Fletcher said.
"This is a college town, Wiz. Every night's primetime."
"Haven't they figured you out yet?"
"Who? The college chicks?"
"Who else would I be talking about?"
"Nah. They don't care."
Fletcher had been a detective for a long time. He knew that cases required you to stay late from time to time, but he felt the same as Eric. He looked at his phone for the hundredth time, but Kate hadn't replied. Eric was getting a constant stream of texts, whereas he couldn't get even one. He couldn't believe Kate would throw out such an outrageous declaration and then refuse to talk about it.
"The way you keep checking your phone makes me think you're engaged in a little side action with a hottie of your own," Eric said. He wiggled his eyebrows then made a kissy-face.
Fletcher rolled his eyes. "I'm not you, Eric."
"Ouch, Smarts, that really smarts."
Fletcher shook his head and looked back at the screen.
"What? Didn't like the rhyme?"
"It's not a rhyme when you use the same word twice, dumbass."
Eric threw a pen across the desk at Fletcher and said, "Damn, dude. What's your problem?"
"Can we please just focus on this?" Fletcher tried concentrating on what Renee was saying but he had missed the last couple of minutes. Even though it was the fifth time they'd watched the interview, he slid the progress bar back.
He watched the video through again, trying to make sense of Renee's testimony. But each time he watched it, it made less sense. What would motivate a young woman with no prior record to kill someone? And why try to cover it with an asinine story? There were any number of possible reasons for her to be at the Williams' residence, the most obvious, in his opinion, was that she was having an affair with Marlon. Maybe Marlon had threatened to come clean with his wife and she, being young, was afraid of what would happen. Maybe she'd panicked and decided to kill him then try to wiggle out of it under the guise of self-defense. But in reality, the only reason he could think of in his tired state of why she said what she said was that she legitimately thought they were stupid.
The evening dragged on. They could only watch the video so many times before they practically had it memorized, so they sat at their desks doing largely nothing. Fletcher checked his phone several times, typing out several texts to Kate then deleting them, unsent; Eric texted non-stop. The clicking of his phone was obnoxiously loud in the otherwise quiet room. Sergeant Frey and the other detectives finally returned to the station around ten pm, and after nearly an hour of mind-numbing debriefing, they were allowed to leave.
Normally Fletcher reveled in the art of piecing together the many elements of an investigation—he'd voluntarily stayed to work a case on more than one occasion—but tonight all he wanted was to get home and talk with his wife.
Twenty minutes later he pulled into his driveway, keeping to the right edge of the concrete so he wouldn't block Kate from getting out when she left for work in the morning. As the garage door rose, he let out a sigh of relief when he saw that Kate's car occupied the left half of the garage. Piles of junk occupied the right. At least she came home.
Fletcher got out of his truck, pushing the lock on the door down as he shut the door, and walked into the garage and through the laundry room, closing the garage door behind him. When he went into the living room, he saw Kate sitting on the floor in front of the couch. Her knees were tucked up to her chest.
"Can we talk?" she said.
"I've been wanting to all day," Fletcher said, sitting on the end of the couch farthest from her, "but you've been ignoring me."
"I didn't want to do it over the phone."
"Sorry I'm late."
"It's fine," Kate said. It was never fine when she said it was fine. "You had to work."
"About last night—"
"Let me start," Kate said, interrupting him.
"Okay."
"I want a divorce."
The words hit Fetcher like a bullet to the chest protector, knocking the breath out of him. "Yeah, you said that," he wheezed. Hearing her utter them again so matter-of-factly left him feeling numb. "What I can't understand is why."
"This," Kate said, gesturing between the two of them, "us—it's not working anymore. It hasn't been for a while."
"I know things haven't been that great…"
Kate shook her head in agreement.
"And that's it? You're ready to call it quits?"
Kate nodded.
"Shouldn't we try counseling again?"
"We've already tried that, Fletch."
"And things got better."
"But it doesn't last. I admit that while we were going, and for a month or so after, it was better, but then you went right back to where you were before."
"Look, I know sometimes I'm not good at—"
"Sometimes?"
Fletcher looked at Kate, who turned her head and stared across the room at the TV, which was on with the volume turned down. "You know what I mean. We've been over this. And we agreed that we would try."
"I try," Kate said without looking at him. A strand of her otherwise neat hair, tied back in a ponytail, was down, partially blocking her face from view.
"And so do I."
"It doesn't feel like it."
Fletcher scooted over and slid off the couch, sitting next to Kate, but with his back to the TV, facing her. He tucked the stray hair back behind her ear, but she didn't move or turn to look at him. He gazed at her for a moment. She wasn't wearing makeup and her eyes glistened. "Kate, I'm sorry I don't always do or say the right things, but I love you."
"Really?" Kate turned and looked at him.
"Yes. Very much."
"But that's the problem, Fletch. I don't feel like you do."
Silence hung in the air between them. Kate went back to staring past him at the TV.
He honestly didn't know what to say. They'd been round and round about how he didn't express his love the way she needed him to. Counseling had made him more cognizant of that fact, but unless he was actively thinking about it—which was hard to do day in and day out—he'd forget. It wasn't like he did it on purpose—he would never do that. But with the busyness of their lives, he had other things on his mind. Eventually, he said, "I try."
"I know," Kate said. "But it's not enough." She looked back at him and placed her hand on his cheek. "I can't sit around any longer waiting for you to figure it out."
"So that's it?" Fletcher put his hand over hers.
"I love you, Fletch," Kate said. She wiped tears from her eyes with her free hand. "But I need someone who can give me what I need."
Fletcher wanted to say something, but again, he didn't know what. Instead, he tried sliding his arm around Kate, but she shied away. Their relationship had had its ups and downs. In the ups, it was almost as if they had just fallen in love—always touching, hugging on each other, and plenty of sex—but during the downs they hardly touched at all. In that moment, sitting across from Kate, Fletcher felt a brick wall go up between them. Her mind was made up, he knew. She no longer considered herself to be his wife, or him her husband. She'd already mentally made the break.
They sat in silence for a good fifteen minutes before Kate said, "I'm going to bed." She pushed herself to her feet and walked across the living room without so much as a kiss or a hug. Fletcher watched her go. Before disappearing around the corner to the bedroom she stopped and looked back, causing a glimmer of hope to rise in him. "Do you mind sleeping in the guest room?"
Fletcher stared in disbelief; the hope evaporated. He shook his head.
He didn't know how long he sat there before eventually going into the kitchen and staring into the fridge. He hadn't had anything to eat, but he wasn't hungry. Instead, he texted Eric. "I know it's late but you wanna get a beer?"
"I thought you went home."
"I did, but I need a beer."
"Sure."
"Meet me at the pub in 20?"
"Sure thing, Wise Guy. Slow night anyways."
Fletcher retrieved his keys from the shelf in the hallway by the front door. He walked into the garage and hit the garage-door opener with the side of his fist, but then went back into the house.
He knocked on the bedroom door and said, "Kate?" He waited a moment, but there was only silence. "Kate? Can we please talk about this?"
When it was clear there would be no response, he turned and walked away.
Eric was already sitting at the bar when Fletcher walked into Ponderosa's. The renovated historic building with creaky wood floors was a favorite downtown spot for the college kids, but the echoes of their typical din were absent tonight. A lot of locals avoided Ponderosa's because of their ever-present hoopla, but Ponderosa's had been his spot since he was a college kid himself. The walls were covered in coasters from around the world. It was said if you brought in a coaster they didn't already have you'd get a free beer. He didn't know if it'd ever happened and had never asked. By the time he climbed on the bar stool, the owner of the pub, Mac, already had a beer waiting.
"Trouble in paradise?" Eric said.
"You already know there is," Fletcher said. He picked up his beer a
nd took a drink.
"I figured you'd work things out, like you always do."
Fletcher swallowed another mouthful of beer. "Not this time, apparently."
"Weren't you doing counseling or some shit like that?"
"We went for a while but haven't gone in a few months. But now she's set on getting divorced." He took another drink then swirled what was left in his glass around for a bit. "We talked for like ten minutes, then she locked herself in the bedroom. Said she was going to bed."
"Bed my ass," Eric said.
"That's what I thought. She's never once gone to bed that early. She's always up late. She just didn't want to talk anymore." He finished off his pint. "And to top it off, she wants me to sleep in the guest room."
As if on cue, Fletcher's phone buzzed. He picked it up and saw he had a text from Kate: I decided to stay the night at Denise's instead.
Of course you did, he thought. He opted against actually replying.
"If she's the one who wants a divorce, shouldn't she be the one to sleep in the guest room?"
"You'd think."
"Another beer?" Mac said.
"My wife wants a divorce, Mac."
"So… that's a yeah?"
"Sorry, Mac. I don't know when to turn the sarcasm off—or so I've been told."
"Yeah," Eric said, "he's been a real piece of work today."
Fletcher glared over at Eric. He really wasn't in the mood. He didn't know why he'd even invited Eric. He would have been perfectly content to sit and drink alone, in relative peace and quiet.
"No worries, Fletch," Mac said. "Sorry to hear that."
"Besides," he said, "when have you ever known me to have just one?"
"Well, I didn't want to assume."
"Because you didn't want to be an ass?"
"Just because you're being one doesn't mean I have to be," Mac said.
"Fair enough."
"Do you want another beer or are we gonna sit here and BS all night?"
"If those are my choices, I'll take the beer."
"So what are you going to do?" Eric said while Mac set another beer in front of Fletcher.
"I don't know." Fletcher drank half his beer down in one long pull. "What can I do? If she wants a divorce, we get a divorce."