by Sonja Yoerg
Where are you?
FFS Jackie, this is important.
FYI Harlan got him and took him to his friend’s house.
Jackie’s thoughts are darting too fast for her to pin them down. She takes a long drink from her mug and reads the texts again.
Antonio knew his father was out of town but called him first anyway, probably because of the last scene she had with him. Antonio expected her to come, once summoned by Miles, and she would’ve, had she known. Why didn’t she check her phone last night? Was she trying to stay under the radar while she was seeing Jeff again? Her own motivation is muddy to her, but what does it matter now?
In any event, Harlan stepped in to save the day. How totally unsurprising.
Miles will be furious, but delaying will only make things worse, so Jackie takes a deep breath and calls him.
Five interminable rings before he picks up. “Jackie.” His tone is hard and flat.
She starts to pace into the living room, and the cord pulls out of the wall. “Shit. Hold on.” She plugs it back in. “Sorry. Are you still at the hotel?”
“I got out of the shower to get your call. Did you get my texts?”
“Just now. My phone died.”
He pauses, as if weighing this excuse. “That’s not like you. Were you home last night?”
Here we go. She winces at the bite of guilt. “I had dinner with Jeff and was home at nine thirty. I was completely shattered and went straight to bed.”
“Jeff? Do I know Jeff?”
“I’ve told you about him. I dated him in college. He’s in town on business and happened to come to my talk.”
“Your talk was Monday.”
“Miles, this feels like the third degree.” Also totally justified; she’d do the same—and had when she questioned him about Harlan’s insinuations.
A short huff. “Does it? You were going to look after Antonio this week.”
“Meeting an old friend and looking after Antonio are unrelated. Antonio was staying with a friend because I objected to drug deals at our house. How am I supposed to keep track of him?”
“You aren’t. That’s not what I mean. But when he ends up in jail, I would’ve hoped you would help him.”
Jackie closes her eyes to quell the frustration rising in her chest. “I would’ve helped him. You know that.”
“Luckily I was able to get a hold of Harlan. I felt bad about asking him to go so late.”
“He’s a night owl. And it wouldn’t have been the end of the world if Antonio had to spend one night in jail. It might have taught him something.” Immediately she wants to take back these words. She stands by them, but it’s not what Miles needs to hear, not right now.
He drops his voice. “I’m surprised at you, Jackie. I thought you understood something about what he’s going through. I thought you cared about him.”
Jackie bends forward, absorbing the blow. “I thought you knew me well enough not to question that.” Silence hums on the line. “Have a good flight and I’ll see you later.”
Miles ends the call without another word.
Somehow getting adequate sleep has left Jackie more aware of the emotional bruising she’s sustained. She wants to crawl back into bed, but knows she will lie there tormented by an endless loop of negative thoughts about her career, her integrity, and her marriage. Instead, she occupies herself with mindless, long-neglected tasks. First she attacks the laundry. She strips the bed, collects the soiled clothes and towels, and starts the first load. The cleaning service comes every two weeks and is due in three days, but she gives the bathroom a quick scrub, replaces the towels, and puts fresh sheets on the bed. The fact that she is making progress toward something, even if it is menial, settles her nerves. She vacuums upstairs, then takes a break to eat some yogurt and an apple. Noticing that the refrigerator contents are 90 percent condiments, she makes a mental note to stop at the market on her way back from the lab. After she vacuums the downstairs and straightens the living room, she tackles the kitchen. Finally, Jackie takes stock of the guest room in case Antonio returns. By midday, the house is in order. It’s all superficial, but it’s better than ruminating.
She downs a quick lunch of crackers and cheese, changes into jeans and a blouse, and drives to work. Tate is setting up one of the research rooms for the first subjects.
“Hi, Tate. Thanks for coming in right before break.” Tate is from Falls Church, so she doesn’t have far to go to for the holidays, but she never complains about being the last one released from duties.
Tate places the iPad she was checking on the table. “It’s fine. Too much time at home isn’t advisable.” She sticks her hands into the pockets of her skirt, a full 1950s style in yellow-and-white gingham. “Can I ask you something? About the data problem?”
“Sure.”
“Rumors are swirling that it wasn’t a mistake, that someone meant to screw things up.”
Jackie sighs. “It looks that way. I haven’t wanted to advertise it.”
She tilts her head. “Do you know who it was?”
“No.”
“Do you have an idea?”
Jackie hesitates. “It would be wrong of me to share that without being sure. You can see that, right?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry.”
Tate is shuffling her feet, and Jackie realizes why she’s asking. “What are people saying, Tate? Can you tell me?”
“That it’s Vince Leeds. That he did it for attention.” Her gaze has been lowered, but now she studies Jackie, measuring her reaction. “Like a nonmedical Munchausen by proxy.”
Jackie laughs. Vince? Seriously? Where did that rumor start?
Tate is watching her, her brow furrowed.
“I honestly don’t know who it was, Tate. But the data are secure; that’s the important thing.” Jackie orients toward a knock at the main door, then turns back to Tate. “The Ramirezes. Early as usual. I’ll get them.”
As she enters her office to leave her things, Jackie admits she was only mollifying Tate. The data matter a great deal, but not as much as reputations and careers, which, once damaged, are unlikely to recover. Vince is an easy target. If Harlan is really behind her life unraveling, who else is in his way?
CHAPTER 24
At six o’clock that evening Jackie transfers the grocery bags to one hand, unlocks the front door, and makes her way to the kitchen. Muffled music emanates from the guest room, the living room is in disarray, and takeout containers litter the kitchen counter. Antonio is here, and probably Miles since his flight landed at National two hours ago. Jackie begins to put away the groceries. Her stomach growls; she hasn’t eaten much today. She’s dreading seeing Miles and isn’t too crazy about Antonio right now, either. What she wouldn’t give to return to early this morning when she awoke from her impossibly long sleep.
Miles is descending the stairs and stops halfway between the kitchen and the living room, pointedly not approaching her for a hug or a kiss.
“Hi, Jackie.”
“Hi. How was your flight?” The soft pitch of small talk.
“Fine.” He nods toward the guest room. “I collected Antonio from his friend’s on my way back from the airport. You might’ve thought to do that.”
Wow. That was fast. “He chose to go there, remember?”
“Yes, but he obviously needs supervision.”
“I begged him to stay, Miles. I don’t know why you don’t believe me.” Her head feels like giant hands are squeezing it. Low blood sugar, stress, anger.
Miles steps closer. “Did you even check in with him all week?”
“Yes, by text—”
“Once.”
“I don’t remember exactly—” She picks up her phone from the counter to check, then changes her mind. Miles is staring at her; he is indignant and angry. “This is absurd!”
“Is it?” He paces into the living room and back again. Jackie can’t remember ever seeing him so agitated, and it scares her. “You’ve been too distracted to fulf
ill your promise to me about Antonio because you’ve reconnected with your old boyfriend.”
“We had drinks and a dinner. Like I told you.” And a kiss, which Miles knowing about will help exactly nothing. Of course she feels guilty that it happened and is glad she threw cold water on the situation.
Miles shakes his head, disbelieving. He might have seen a flash of doubt on her face. In any case, he’s not buying it. Or he’s simply too angry.
Jackie’s head is throbbing. She opens a bag of almonds she left on the counter, tosses a handful in her mouth. “You know, I’ve had a lot going on at the lab, pretty disastrous stuff, and you’ve totally ignored that.”
“You haven’t filled me in.”
“When? While you’re yelling at me about your son?” She pulls a bottle of white from the fridge, one with a screw top because today is like that, and gets two glasses from the cabinet, out of habit, not charity.
“I’ve been in California, Jackie. Working.” Miles runs a hand through his hair. “What happened at the lab?”
Jackie knocks back half the glass she poured. Where does she begin? “The foundation is pissed, and so is Chen, the department chair. And Nasira . . .” Jackie hesitates. She wants to be forthright with her husband, and he did ask, but every conversation they’ve had about Nasira or Harlan has gone sideways.
He places both hands on the counter. “What about Nasira?”
“She told me some things about Harlan that, together with what I know, paint a pretty concerning picture.”
“A ‘concerning picture’? What does that mean?”
Jackie bites her lip. “I think he might be behind it, Miles. Behind all of it.”
He jerks back. “What? I suppose Nasira is in on it, too.”
“I don’t—”
“Really, Jackie. You’ve gone around the bend.”
The guest room door opens, and Antonio appears, rubbing his face as he approaches them. His hair is rumpled, he’s unshaven, and his pants look like they’re about to fall off his hips. “Heard you guys fighting—over my music, which is something. I’m trying to get some rest.”
Miles holds up his hands. “Don’t worry. We’re done. I’m leaving.”
Jackie says, “Leaving to go where? You just got here.”
“And it’s been a lovely reception from both of you.” He stalks to the front door, grabs his jacket and his keys.
“Bye, Dad.” Antonio lifts one hand. “Sorry I’m such a fuckup.”
Miles stands there for a moment, his chest rising and falling with the heat of his emotion. Jackie wants to run to him, calm him, hold him, but he’s so foreign to her right now, she cannot bring herself to do it. The gathering sense that nothing is what she thinks it is, that everything is being toppled over by forces she does not know and cannot understand, frightens her. She is not simply alone in her marriage. She is a stranger in her own life.
Without a word, Miles opens the door and is gone.
Three hours later, Jackie is sitting on the couch with her feet on the coffee table, finalizing grades for the methodology class. Each student’s numerical grade is calculated based on their performance on tests, quizzes, and projects, but Jackie takes other factors into account, such as improvement over the semester or special circumstances. And an average of 89.5 is always an A minus.
The doorbell chimes, and she startles. She saves her work, sets aside the computer, and goes to the door, pausing to glance in the entryway mirror to ensure that she is marginally presentable. She touches the door-cam screen and an image appears.
A uniformed police officer, male, white, and heavyset, and another man, lanky and black, wearing wire-rims and in plain clothes.
She twists the dead bolt and opens the door, dread rising inside her.
“Good evening,” the policeman says. “I’m Officer Goodyear and this is Detective Cash.” The detective flashes his badge. “Are you Jacqueline Strelitz?”
“Yes.” Something has happened to Miles. He was upset. He was in a car crash.
“Mind if we come in?”
“No, no.” She steps aside and gestures down the hall. “The living room is just here.”
The policeman leads the way, scanning. “Anyone else home, Ms. Strelitz?”
“Doctor. I mean Jackie.” What is she saying? Her brain is fogging over. “No one right now, but my stepson is due back soon. He went out to eat.”
“Name?”
“Antonio de Haas. With two a’s.”
“How old is Antonio?”
“Twenty. Is this about him?”
The detective raises his eyebrows. “Let’s sit down, okay?”
“Sure.”
Jackie takes the seat where she left her laptop, and the men sit in the chairs angled toward her. The detective unbuttons his coat and extracts a small notepad from his jacket. His fingers are long, graceful. He seems to be moving in slow motion, and her own movements drag, too. Her hands are clammy, and she rubs them on her thighs before clasping them in her lap.
The detective says, “Do you know Jeffrey Toshack?”
Jeff? This is about Jeff? “Yes. Why?”
“How do you know him?”
“He’s an old friend. We had dinner last night.”
Detective Cash holds her gaze. “Mr. Toshack was found dead earlier today.”
“What?” Her hand flies to her mouth. “No. No, that’s not possible.” She looks at the officer, whose expression has not changed, then back to the detective. Her heart is in her throat. “What happened?”
“We’re still piecing it together. When exactly did you last see Mr. Toshack?”
“After dinner. It was around nine fifteen.” Jackie pictures Jeffrey standing in front of her, smiling. Tears sting behind her eyes and she fights them back. “We walked back to my car from the Festive Hen. I was parked on campus, outside Wolf Hall. I offered him a ride to his hotel, but he said he wanted to walk.”
The detective is taking notes. “And what did you do after you left?”
“I drove home.”
“Straight home?”
“Yes.”
“Did you leave the house again?”
“No. I went to bed early.”
“Did you have any other contact with Mr. Toshack after that? A phone call, maybe?”
“I sent him a text this morning, wishing him a safe trip. He was going to see his parents in Connecticut.” Her voice catches. “Oh God. Those poor people.”
Detective Cash adjusts his glasses. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”
Jackie nods.
“Does Antonio’s father live here?”
“Miles? Yes. Why?”
Officer Goodyear leans forward, elbows on his knees. “And where might he be now?”
“I’m not sure.” The room swirls at the edges. Jeff is dead, and they are asking about where she was, and now about Miles. Jeff isn’t simply dead; they think he was murdered. Jackie closes her eyes a moment, opens them again. “We had an argument earlier and he left. I don’t know where he went.”
The policeman glances at Cash, who is nodding. Cash says, “Do you know where he was last night?”
“In San Francisco. He didn’t come home until this evening.” Jackie pauses, collecting her stampeding thoughts. “Did someone kill Jeff?”
The detective dodges her question. “So your husband was away when you had dinner with Mr. Toshack. Is that what you argued about?”
Jackie’s mouth feels like parchment. She stands. “I need some water.”
The policeman gets up, blocking her. The man is huge. “If you don’t mind, I’ll get it for you.”
“What? Why?”
“Just being careful, ma’am.” He heads to the kitchen.
Jackie watches his back as he opens cabinets, searching for a glass. The edges of everything are bright, shimmering. She’s struggling to assimilate what’s going on: the sudden intrusion, the news about Jeff, the questions about her movements, about Miles. It is surreal.
Focu
s, Jackie.
She addresses Detective Cash. “Did someone kill Jeff? Do I need a lawyer?”
“Please sit down.” He sighs. “You can have a lawyer present, but then we’d need to take you to the station.” He spreads his hands in a gesture of innocence, which she doesn’t buy for one minute. “Up to you.”
The officer hands her the glass. She takes a long drink, tells herself she’s done nothing wrong and has no reason to be defensive. “Look,” Jackie says, as she sits down. “Last night I came home after dinner and went to bed. My husband was in California. I didn’t check my phone after I came home, but in the morning I found out Miles was trying to get hold of me last night because Antonio had been arrested for drinking.” Both men shift in their seats. “He’d just finished his finals.” Jackie hears how lame that sounds—as if completing a term always leads to an arrest—but she presses on. “So I told Miles I’d been to dinner with Jeff, and he was upset because I wasn’t available to pick up Antonio from jail. We argued about it briefly on the phone, and when we saw each other again a few hours ago, we picked up where we left off.”
“Dr. Strelitz,” Detective Cash begins, “were you having an affair with Mr. Toshack?”
“No.”
“But your husband was jealous that you had dinner with him.”
“Miles was upset about his son.”
“Sure. And also jealous?”
Was he jealous? In talking to Miles, Jackie deflected his probes about Jeff, determined to keep the focus on Antonio. Miles was definitely miffed that Jackie was socializing, but there is an infinite distance between that and murder. “The implication is ludicrous. Miles isn’t capable of hurting anyone.”
Cash nods, politely acknowledging the defense, as predictable as it is. “Did you and Mr. Toshack see each other on another occasion before the dinner?”
With each question, Jackie increasingly feels she should stop talking and insist on a lawyer. But each question is so straightforward, it seems silly not to answer. She has nothing to hide and wants to help. “We had drinks on Monday. He came to a public lecture I gave, and we went out for drinks after. Before that, we hadn’t had any contact since college.”