Good Morning, Killer

She sat there with the muffin tin on her lap.

Eunice appeared in the doorway with Ross Murphy. He looked like an eighty-year-old man who just had open-heart surgery.

“Did you get that bastard David Yi?”

“I told you, Mr. Yi is no longer a suspect.”

“He has friends,” Ross insisted. “Friends in prison, have you ever heard of that? It’s that bastard Yi. He calls again, you better not let me on the phone!”

An eighty-year-old man waving small weak fists. All puffed up because he was helpless.

I took a breath. “Folks, my supervisor has asked me to bring you in for a polygraph today.” When they looked blank I added, “A lie detector test.”

“Us?”

Eunice left the room to answer her Nextel.

“Standard operating procedure for anyone who might have come in contact with Juliana in the days before she went missing.”

“Bullshit,” said Ross, “and I resent the implication.”

“Oh Ross,” snapped his wife, “it’s the real world.”

“Don’t I know it. Doesn’t get realer than this. We’re her parents,” he exploded. “We love her! Okay, yes, people chop up their children and put them in concrete. Did we? No. Are we dying here? What the hell do you think?” Lynn was staring at the muffin tin.

“I know you’ve been through it. But we have to ask the tough questions and there is no question we will not ask, and nobody who will not be scrutinized.”

“We have no problemo taking your test,” Ross hissed, “because we have nothing to hide, but what really pisses me off is the fact that I gave you the guy. David Yi. Why doesn’t anyone listen to me?” “You’re a broken record,” murmured his wife in a monotone.

“Hold it,” I said. “Everybody take a deep breath.”

Lynn had covered her ears with her hands. They were trembling. Then, in slow motion, she keeled over.

“Lynn?”

Sitting cross-legged, she had folded forward until her forehead pressed the floor, as if assuming some kind of yoga position.

Her husband said, “Are you all right?”

“No test.”

“What?”

“No reason,” she mumbled.

I had to get down on my hands and knees to hear. We looked like two mental patients with ears to the ground, listening for Indian hoofbeats.

“Can you speak a little more clearly?”

Her nose was squashed against the oak flooring. “I should have told you before. I’m sorry I was not forthcoming, but I tried to believe it wasn’t true. I didn’t want it to be true, but now I’m so afraid because Juliana’s still not home.” “What the hell are you talking about?” Ross cried impatiently. He was bent over in a squat, hands on kneecaps, head cocked toward his wife.

“Eunice!” I wanted a witness. “Take it easy, Mrs. Meyer-Murphy—”

“I had an affair!” Lynn sobbed quietly. “I had an affair in Milan, with a buyer from Nordstrom.”

Ross closed his eyes and shook his head with a look of perverse satisfaction, as if he had always known this punishment would come to him.

“He took my baby!” Lynn was now convulsed with tears. “Oh my God,” she kept saying. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

Eunice was back, hooking the cell phone on her belt. She took in the scene with a knowing sigh.

“Why would this man kidnap Juliana?” I was asking.

“He was very, very angry with me—”

“Why, honey?” Eunice crooned. “How could he be that angry he would take your child?”

“Because he’s mean, and possessive, and I ended the relationship.”

“You ended the relationship?”

“I sent his underwear to his wife.”

“Who is this?” demanded Ross. “Who are you talking about? Is this Ed Hobart?”

Lynn’s whole face went crimson, and she was making coughing, barking sounds. Eunice and I were kneeling beside her and speaking soothingly, but it was impossible to unfold her from that repentant pose. Her body was like locked steel. Where was Andrew with his melting embrace?

“It’s Hobart,” said Ross with a tight, tight smile. “Head of the whole wonderful overseas Nordstrom operation. Good. Good choice. Go fuck Hobart. I guess there’s no need for the loser anymore.” He straightened up and left. A door slammed. Eunice and I exchanged a look and she darted after him.

“Tell us about this man and we will check him out.”

“He lives in Seattle,” Lynn gasped, “but he comes down here all the time. Oh, what if he has Juliana? All I can think about are terrible, awful, horrible things—”

“Ana!” Eunice interrupted sharply. “We have a situation. Dad locked himself in the powder room.”

“You must think we’re a bunch of lunatics,” sniffled Lynn.

I dragged her to her feet and into the foyer with the hat rack and the pile of Rollerblades beneath it and a small Oriental rug.

“Is there a window? What’s in there?”

“I don’t know,” she whimpered. “Bathroom stuff.”

“Ross.” I banged on the door. “What’s going on?”

“Ross!” called Lynn hoarsely. “Come out.”

I heard the toilet flushing.

“You all right, buddy?”

No answer.

“Talk to me, Ross. Or I’m going to have to come in there to make sure you’re all right.”

“Screw you!”

“Listen to me. We’re making progress—”

“You don’t know what the fuck is going on. You don’t know if my daughter is alive.”

“We don’t have anything that says she’s not alive.”

Silence.

“Let’s come out and talk about it, Ross.” Nothing. “You’ll work this through with your wife. You’re both under a lot of stress right now—”

“I’m sorry, Ross!” Lynn cried. “I love you. I’m sorry! I never meant to hurt you, but I had to tell. I had to tell to get Juliana back. She’s the only thing that matters, please—”

“I’m tired of this bullshit. Nobody listens to me.”

“I’m listening to you,” I answered boldly. “What is bullshit, Ross? Your definition. Tell me what that is.”

“Bullshit is not getting anywhere. Bullshit is farting around and dicking around when I told you to go after Yi.”

“I hear you about Yi. What else is bullshit?”

Silence.

“Are you thinking of doing something to yourself in there, Ross? Are you thinking of committing suicide?”

“Fuck you. Fuck everybody!”

“You haven’t answered my question. Do you want to kill yourself?”