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Staring at the frozen image on the screen, I told her what was really on my mind. “Are you having an affair?”
EIGHTEEN
PATRICK
Now
It bothered me that I felt some small pleasure hearing the note of anxiety in Samantha’s voice, asking if I’d told the guys I knew in the police force about the murdered man and his disappearance. The short burst of pleasure sickened me, but I knew I was feeling it because it was the first time I’d felt as if I had any control over this situation. I felt threatened and silenced by my wife and our friends. Those feelings stirred up unwanted memories—voices of taunting kids on the playground that I was weak.
It had been typical bullying. Nothing too serious, just words. If you’re a nice guy, a lot of people choose to view that as weak. Men are supposed to be tough and take charge, unshakeable.
I was trying to do the right thing with this murder, but I was the only one who thought it was the right thing. It was a normal reaction, I suppose, to think of yourself and threats to your own safety first, but it bothered me. A lot. I could never understand why the human race seemed to be dominated by self-interest. The reason humanity survived primitive times was because people stuck together in groups. They formed social rules and followed them.
“Patrick?” Samantha’s voice was pleading, almost vibrating with fear.
“I didn’t tell them about the body. I need to find it first.”
“We’ll never find it.”
“You sound very certain,” I said.
“There are too many places, too much wilderness, the lake is huge and so deep.”
“If we don’t, that doesn’t mean I won’t decide to tell them. Maybe I should get Brian’s take on the situation. It might give me—”
“Please don’t. Please. You aren’t taking it seriously. You’re next! How does that not terrify you?”
I shrugged. “They’ll be here soon. I’d rather talk to them myself.”
“I’m trying to support you,” she said.
I had to laugh at that. Weighing a smashed car window against a murder was insane. She acted as if the two were of equal importance. “I don’t need help reporting vandalism. And I don’t need you here to make sure I follow Emily’s rules.”
Her face looked like it might crumble. “They aren’t her rules,” she said softly.
“You really have no idea who that guy was? Because if we knew that, we might know why someone wanted him dead.”
“I don’t know.” She stood on her toes to kiss my jaw. Then, she turned and walked to the porch. She opened the front door but stood looking back at me. I turned my attention to the street.
It took another forty minutes for a sheriff’s car to come rolling slowly down the street. The car stopped just past the driveway to the house next door. The door swung open with force and a female officer climbed out. She was so tiny she looked like she wouldn’t be able to hold a gun without using both hands. She had light brown hair pulled into a short ponytail. She wore mirrored sunglasses so I couldn’t see her eyes.
“I’m here about a smashed window on your vehicle,” she said. “Deputy Corrigan.”
I introduced myself and led her up the drive to show her the damage. I’d left the glass on the ground. I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if there was forensic evidence in a few handfuls of pebbled glass.
“What time did you discover this?” she asked.
“I’d gone for a walk. When I got home… it was early afternoon.”
“And you’re sure it wasn’t smashed when you left? There was quite a storm last night.”
“This wasn’t from a storm. There were no branches anywhere near the car.”
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t from the storm.” She held up her hand as I started to speak. “I’m not saying it was the storm. It could just as likely be vandalism.”
“Are you going to take a report? What’s the process?”
“Yes, I’ll take a report, but don’t expect much from that. You’ll have it for insurance, if that’s your concern.” She pulled out her phone and tapped notes into it. She stepped back and took a photo of the broken window and another of the back of the SUV, capturing the license plate.
