“Does your ex-wife still have friends in the area?”
“I wouldn’t really know, but I doubt it.”
“How about Reba Cordova?”
Guy Novak thought about that. “They were good friends when Marianne lived here. Very close. I never knew why. The two women couldn’t be more different. But yeah, I mean, if Marianne still kept in touch with anyone in the area, it would probably be Reba.”
“When was the last time you saw Reba Cordova?”
He looked up and to his right. “It’s been a while. I don’t know, maybe a back-to-school night or something.”
If he knew that his ex had been murdered, Muse thought, he was a pretty cool customer.
“Reba Cordova is missing.”
Guy Novak opened his mouth, closed it. “And you think Marianne has something to do with it?”
“Do you?”
“She’s self-destructive. But the key word is ‘self.’ I don’t think she’d hurt anyone else, except maybe her own family.”
“Mr. Novak, I would very much like to talk to your daughter.”
“Why?”
“Because we think that your ex-wife was murdered.”
She said it just like that and waited for the reaction. It was slow in coming. It was as if the words were floating toward him one at a time, and it was taking him a long time to hear and process them. For a few seconds he did nothing. He just stood and stared. Then he made a face like maybe he’d heard wrong.
“I don’t… you
Muse looked back and nodded. Clarence started toward the door. “We found a body in an alley dressed like a prostitute. Neil Cordova believes that it’s your ex-wife, Marianne Gillespie. What we need you to do, Mr. Novak, is to accompany my colleague Investigator Morrow to the medical examiner’s office so that you can see the body for yourself. Do you understand?”
His tone was numb. “Marianne is dead?”
“We believe so, yes, but that’s why we need your help. Investigator Morrow will take you to the body and ask you a few questions. Your friend Beth can stay with the children. I will be here too. I want to ask your daughter about her mother, if that’s okay?”
“Fine,” he said. And that took a lot of the pressure off him. If he had started hemming and hawing, well, the ex-husband is always a good candidate. Not that she was totally sure that he wasn’t involved. She could have run into another great actor in the league of De Niro or Cordova. But again she doubted it. Either way, Clarence would question him.
Clarence said, “Mr. Novak, you ready?”
“I need to tell my daughter.”
“I would rather you didn’t,” Muse said.
“Excuse me?”
“Like I said, we don’t know for sure. I will ask her questions, but I won’t tell her. I will leave that to you, if it is necessary at all.”
Guy Novak nodded through his daze. “Okay.”
Clarence took his arm and said in the gentlest voice, “Let’s go, Mr. Novak. This way.”
Muse did not bother watching Clarence escort him down the path. She entered and headed into the kitchen. The two little girls sat wide-eyed, pretending to eat popcorn.
One of them asked, “Who are you?”
Muse managed a tight smile. “My name is Loren Muse. I work for the county.”
“Where’s my father?”
“Are you Yasmin?”
“Yes.”
“Your dad is helping one of my officers. He’ll be back. But right now I need to ask you a few questions, okay?”
31
BETSY Hill sat on the floor of her son’s room. She had Spencer’s old cell phone in her hand. The battery was long dead. She just held it and stared at it and wasn’t sure what to do.
The day after her son was found dead, she had found Ron starting to pack away this room-the same way he had packed away Spencer’s kitchen chair. Betsy stopped him in no uncertain terms. There was bend, and there was break; even Ron could see the difference.
For days after the suicide, she would lie on this floor in a fetal position and sob. Her stomach hurt so much. She just wanted to die, that’s all, just let the agony conquer and devour her. But it didn’t. She put her hands on his bed, smoothing the sheets. She stuck her face in his pillow, but the scent was gone.
How could it have happened?
She thought about her conversation with Tia Baye, what it meant, what it ultimately could mean. Nothing really. In the end Spencer was dead. Ron was right on that count. Knowing the truth wouldn’t change that or even help her heal. Knowing the truth wouldn’t give her that damn word “closure,” because, in truth, she didn’t want it. What kind of mother-a mother who had already failed her child in so much-would want to move on, to stop hurting, to be given some kind of pass?
“Hey.”
She looked up. Ron stood in the doorway. He tried to smile at her. She slipped the phone into her back pocket.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Ron?”
He waited.
“I need to find out what really happened that night.”
Ron said, “I know you do.”
“It won’t bring him back,” she said. “I know that. It won’t even make us feel better. But I think we need to do it anyway.”
“Why?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
Ron nodded. He stepped into the room and started to bend toward her. For a moment she thought that he was going to wrap his arms around her, and her body stiffened at the thought. He stopped when he saw it, blinked, stood upright again.
“I better go,” he said.
He turned and left. Betsy took the phone out of her pocket. She plugged in the charger and turned it on. Still clutching the phone, Betsy curled into the fetal position and cried again. She thought about her son in that same fetal position-was that hereditary too?- up on that cold hard roof.
She checked the phone log on Spencer’s phone. There were no surprises. She had done this before, but not in several weeks. Spencer had called Adam Baye three times that night. He had last spoken to him an hour before the suicide text. That call had lasted only a minute. Adam had said that Spencer left him a garbled message. Now she wondered if that was a lie.
The police had found this phone on the roof next to Spencer’s body.
She held it now and closed her eyes. She was half-asleep, lulling in that cusp between consciousness and awake, when she heard the phone ring. For a moment she thought that maybe it was Spencer’s cell, but no, it was the house phone.
Betsy wanted to let it go into voice mail, but it might be Tia Baye. She managed to peel herself from the floor. There was a phone in Spencer’s room. She checked the caller ID and saw an unfamiliar number.
“Hello?”
There was silence.
“Hello?”
Then a boy’s voice choked with tears said, “I saw you and my mom on the roof.”
Betsy sat up. “Adam?”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hill.”
“Where are you calling from?” she asked.
“A pay phone.”
“Where?”
She heard more crying.
“Adam?”
“Spencer and I used to meet in your backyard. In those woods where you used to have the swing set. Do you know it?”
“Yes.”
“I can meet you there.”
“Okay, when?”
“Spencer and I liked it there because you can see anyone coming or going. If you tell someone, I’ll spot them. Promise me you won’t.”
“I promise. When?”
“One hour.”
“Okay.”
