The Guilty Husband

by Stephanie DeCarolis

By Kate Owens for World View

  As first reported by World View, Vince Taylor (age 39), CEO of the popular technology development company, KitzTech, was allegedly involved in an illicit affair with his young intern, Layla Bosch (age 23), in the months leading up to her unfortunate death last week. Taylor is now the prime suspect in the investigation into Layla’s murder and has been questioned by the police on multiple occasions. An arrest has not yet been made.

  World View has now been provided with a copy of what we believe to be a page from Layla’s personal diary, and we think the heat is about to turn way up on this investigation. On August 18, 2019, just one week before her death, Layla wrote:

  ‘I think I need to end things with Vince. It’s all just becoming too much. I know he loves me, but I’m just not sure I feel the same anymore. He said that he saw me out to dinner with a friend last week. I tried to tell him that Adam is just a friend, nothing more, but he didn’t believe me. He told me that he could never bear to see me with anyone else. I know this is what I wanted, a future for the two of us, but his love is starting to feel too intense. How did he even know I was out with Adam? Is he following me? I tried to tell him that I needed space, but he wasn’t having it. He just kept telling me that he couldn’t be without me. I don’t know what to do.’

  The document obtained by World View is being turned over to the NYPD to verify its authenticity and to assist in the police investigation into Layla’s murder.

  I can’t believe what I’m reading. This reporter … she has to be lying. Surely this has to be considered libel at this point, because what she wrote, it never happened. And yet … there is enough truth in the details that I know she didn’t grasp the story out of thin air.

  I suddenly notice that my cell phone is buzzing in my pocket. I pull it out just in time to catch Jeff’s call.

  ‘What the fuck is this, Vince?’ He asks angrily. ‘I thought you told me everything there was to know. Did you forget to mention the part where she wanted to leave you? Because if you’re not going to tell me everything, I can’t possibly defend you—’

  ‘I did tell you everything! This article is complete and utter bullshit. As a matter of fact, I want you to press charges for libel this time.’

  ‘None of it is true?’ Jeff asks skeptically. ‘Because before you go suing anyone, I need to know what you’re up against.’

  ‘Well, most of it is a lie.’

  ‘You’re going to need to tell me exactly what the hell is going on here, Vince.’

  I take a deep breath. I don’t know how to make him understand this. ‘Okay. I happened to see Layla out one night. I was having dinner with an investor and Layla was sitting at the bar with a man. I pretended not to see her at first, but she cornered me when my client went to the men’s room. She assured me that the man she was with was just a friend. I will admit that I was a little bit jealous, we were already sleeping together at that point, but I told her it was none of my business who she chose to spend her time with.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing. That was it. That whole thing about not being able to live with her seeing someone else, and her wanting to end things, none of that happened! I swear to you, Jeff.’

  ‘Alright.’ The exasperation is evident in his voice. ‘I’ll make a call to a friend from law school and see what we can do about a libel suit, but I have to warn you, it won’t unring the bell. Even if you sue World View into bankruptcy, the damage is already done. Public opinion has been formed.’

  Jeff is right. I know he is. I can spend all of my time and money tying World View up in lawsuits, but what they printed was already let loose into the world. The rumors are already swirling around me. And around KitzTech. ‘What the hell am I supposed to do then?’ I ask. ‘Just sit here and take it?’

  ‘For now, the best thing you can do is lay low and not give the media anything else to talk about. We don’t even know if the page they purport to be from Layla’s diary is real. But I’m sure you will be the first one to hear from the police if it is.’

  How could I have been so wrong about Layla?

  Chapter 17

  Vince

  BEFORE

  ‘Thanks for letting me tag along today, Vince. It was such a great learning experience for me,’ Layla says as we leave a working lunch with our developers.

  ‘You’re welcome, but you weren’t tagging along. This new app was your idea, and you’ve worked really hard on it these last few weeks. I know I’ve asked you and the team to put in a lot of extra hours with me lately; I thought you should have the chance to see this through to the end.’

  ‘So what now?’ she asks as we step out onto the sunny sidewalk. It’s the early days of summer, before the heat becomes oppressive, where the feeling of sunshine on your face still warms you from within. ‘Should we catch a cab back to the office?’

  ‘You know what, it’s such a beautiful day, why don’t we walk. It’s not too far. That is, if you’re okay walking in those shoes.’ I glance down at the black heels at the end of her long legs.

  ‘Sure, let’s walk. I don’t mind at all.’

  We begin to walk back to the office, passing the busy storefronts along Fifth Avenue, the carefully curated window displays showcasing luxury items: supple leather handbags, glittering diamond jewelry, elegant gowns draped over waifish mannequins. I’ve become so accustomed to the casual opulence around me that I’d forgotten what it probably looks like to someone like Layla who is new to this city. I catch sight of her reflection in the polished glass as we pass by yet another designer storefront. Her face turned up, her wide eyes taking in the dizzying sight of the towering skyscrapers surrounding us.

  ‘I forgot for a moment that you’re new to New York,’ I tell her. ‘The city is really something special isn’t it?’

  ‘It sure is. Do you ever get used to it?’

  ‘Sadly, you do. I’d almost forgotten how spectacular it can be.’

  We walk on in silence for a moment before I have an idea. ‘You know what, change of plans. I’m taking you somewhere special. Consider it your official initiation into being a real New Yorker.’

  Layla smiles brightly. ‘I can’t wait.’

  I raise my arm and hail us a cab.

  The taxi pulls up to Pier 83 on the edge of the Hudson River. The pier is bustling with tourists with cameras slung around their necks, wide-brimmed visors perched on their heads. This is one sight I’ve never gotten used to, and today is a perfect day. The water is a sapphire blue, the sun glinting off of it like scattered diamonds. Seagulls circle overhead, and large ships gently bob in their ports.

  ‘This place is amazing!’ Layla exclaims.

  I’m so pleased to have been the first to introduce her to one of my favorite parts of New York City.

  ‘This was a great surprise,’ she adds.

  ‘Oh, this isn’t the surprise. Come on.’

  I lead Layla over to the green and while building with the large, circular edifice atop it reading ‘Circle Line’, and pay for two tickets for the Liberty Cruise.

  ‘What is this?’ Layla asks.

  ‘You’ve never heard of the Circle Line? You really are new in town. It’s a cruise along the Hudson River. It will give you a whole new perceptive on the city. Just wait until you see the Statue of Liberty up close.’

  ‘Oh my Gosh! I’m so excited!’ Layla squeals with delight.

  Layla and I stand at the front of the cruise ship, our elbows folded on the railing in front of us, as the Statue of Liberty grows larger before us. I look over at Layla. Her eyes are closed, her chin angled up, basking in the sunshine and the salty sea air. I notice a light spray of freckles over the bridge of her nose and the way that she doesn’t seem to mind the feeling of the wind in her hair.

  ‘Are you cold?’ I ask, suddenly realizing that she’s wearing a sleeveless dress and the air is crisp as it whips off the water.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she responds kindly, though I can’t help but notice that she pulls he
r arms closer to her body, protecting herself from the wind.

  ‘Here.’ I take off my suit jacket and drape it over her shoulders. She’s swimming in it, but she smiles up at me appreciatively.

  ‘Thank you. So this is what all the real New Yorkers do in the middle of their workdays?’

  I laugh. ‘No, not quite. It’s kind of touristy, to be honest. But it’s still my favorite way to see the city.’

  ‘Thank you for taking me. This is wonderful.’ Layla turns towards me, pulling my jacket tight around her slim shoulders. Suddenly we’re only inches apart, and she’s looking up at me, her eyes sparkling. Before I have time to think about it, my lips are on hers. I can taste the salt from the sea on her mouth, and her warm body feels like it fits perfectly against mine; like a part of me that I didn’t realize I was missing until this very moment. Just the way I used to feel when I held Nicole – before a child-sized wedge had grown between us.

  Nicole.

  ‘Layla, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I should not have done that.’

  ‘Don’t apologize, Vince. I wanted it too.’

  ‘I’m married though. This can’t happen again.’

  ‘Of course not. I completely understand. It never happened, okay?’ She squeezes my hand reassuringly. Her voice sounds kind, understanding, but I don’t how she could possibly understand the emotions racing through my head right now: desire, longing, regret, shame, guilt – a dizzying combination.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say.

  Layla turns back to face the water, the Statue of Liberty now looming large in front of us, casting a shadow over our little boat. I keep my eyes trained on Lady Liberty, but I can’t stop thinking about the feeling of Layla’s lips on mine.

  Chapter 18

  Allison

  DAY 4

  ‘Kate, you promised me you would contact us if you found anything pertinent to our case,’ I bark into the phone.

  ‘And I am.’

  ‘Only after I read about it in World View!’

  ‘Look, I have a job to keep too. And it’s not like the diary page I printed had a murder confession in it. I printed an excerpt from the page and now I’m turning the original over to you just as I said I would. Do you want it or not?’

  ‘Of course I want it!’

  ‘Good. A messenger is already on his way.’ She ends the call.

  I was so sure that Vince had taken those pages out himself. I had convinced myself that they held some incriminating information about him that he didn’t want anyone else to see. Seems I was partially right: the pages are incriminating, but whoever has these pages now clearly doesn’t like Vince Taylor very much. What reason would anyone have for sending this entry to the press other than to point the finger at Vince? I don’t know who might want to take down Vince, or why, but at least I have a place to start.

  I walk back over to my desk and dig up the phone number Kinnon found for the woman who filed a police report about Vince, or should I say Vincent, nearly twenty years ago. I don’t know how Kinnon managed to find her current phone number, but I’m not totally surprised. He’s very tech savvy. It’s probably why Lanner has taken such a liking to him.

  The phone rings over and over again. I’m beginning to doubt that Kinnon found a working number, when I hear someone pick up.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Shannon Combs?’

  ‘Combs was my maiden name, it’s Shannon Hartley now. Who is calling please?’

  ‘My name is Allison Barnes. I’m a detective with the NYPD. I wanted to ask you some questions about a police report you filed.’

  ‘I haven’t filed any police reports.’ I can hear the confusion in her voice.

  ‘This was an old report. Made nearly twenty years ago.’

  Shannon goes silent. For a moment I think she may have hung up, but then she speaks again in a soft voice.

  ‘Are you calling about Vincent Taylor?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘I have nothing to say.’

  ‘Ms Hartley, if you could just—’

  ‘I’m sorry, Detective, I can’t help you. Please don’t call me again.’

  I hear the receiver click loudly in my ear.

  Well, that didn’t go as I’d expected.

  Just as I hang up the phone, a messenger arrives with a white envelope addressed to me. I open it carefully and pull out a handwritten note from Kate Owens.

  Detective Barnes,

  As promised, here’s the document I received which is reportedly a page from Layla’s diary.

  Before you ask: no, I don’t know where it came from. Good luck.

  - Kate.

  I carefully extract the page from the diary wearing a pair of Latex gloves. I hold it up to the torn edges of the diary that has been sitting on my desk, willing me to find Layla’s killer. It’s a perfect fit. I slip the new page into an evidence bag and walk it down to the Evidence Room hoping they will be able to tell me more about who had it last.

  Chapter 19

  Vince

  DAY 4

  My phone has been eerily silent. Surely Nicole has seen the latest World View article, but she hasn’t tried to reach me. That can’t be a good sign. My e-mail inbox, on the other hand, has been pinging non-stop. Reporters from all over the country have taken an interest in this story and are now badgering me for a comment. ‘What happened to Layla, Vince?’, ‘Were you involved in her death?’, ‘Were you stalking her, Vince?’ They ask these questions so simply, as if I may decide hit reply and e-mail them a confession to murder. I delete every single one without responding, but I know that it’s only a matter of time before this story grows out of control, like a cancer spreading its poison as far as it can reach.

  I know Jeff advised me not to engage, but how can I be expected to just sit here while my life is picked apart, my freedom and my marriage hanging in the balance?

  I pack up my things and leave my corner office at KitzTech. Although Darren isn’t my favorite person at the moment, and his motivations are questionable, he did raise a good point. This negative attention is only going to harm the brand I worked so hard to create. For the good of the company, I need to step away for the time being. I shoot an e-mail to Darren to let him know that although I won’t be stepping down as CEO, I’m going to take some personal time. I don’t need to bring the drama to KitzTech’s front door.

  I take the stairs to the underground parking lot and slide into my car. It roars to life in the cavernous underground parking structure. I begin to nose the car out onto the city street, but the exit ramp is blocked by a herd of reporters and photographers. They snap photos of me, the flash blinding me, as I slowly try to drive past them and maneuver my way around the crowd. They’re probably hoping I accidentally run someone over so they’ll have more headlines to run.

  ‘MOVE!’ I shout as I lean on my horn.

  The group slowly disperses, finally giving me enough room to pull onto the street and out of the scope of their lenses.

  By the time I get home, the stress of being surrounded by reporters hasn’t subsided. It’s only when I pull into my driveway that I realize that I’ve been clenching my teeth.

  ‘Nicole?’ I call out as I walk through the front door. No response. I call again up the stairs towards the bedrooms, but she doesn’t answer.

  Maybe she’s with a client. I walk out the back door, past the pool, and into the wooded grounds that surround it. The sky has grown gray, the sun ducking behind a thick cloud, threatening the rain that we so desperately need to break this heatwave. I follow the cobblestone path to Nicole’s studio. I can see her inside the glass structure, kneeling on an aqua blue yoga mat. Her legs are folded neatly under her. She’s wearing lavender-colored yoga pants and a matching sports bra. Her hair is braided neatly, a rope of blonde trailing down her back. She is facing away from me, and I watch the smooth muscles in her back working beneath her skin as she stretches and lengthens her body during her practice. I see her shoulders rise and fall
as she breathes deeply into her stretches. She looks so peaceful in this moment, and I decide not to disturb her.

  Just as I am turning to leave, I think I hear a rustling in the underbrush. I snap my head around just in time to catch sight of movement in the tree line, a dark shadow that recedes before I can fully make out its form. I freeze, holding my breath, and wait to see what it may have been. We do have wildlife in the woods, squirrels, chipmunks, small, quiet creatures that would hardly catch my attention. The stone wall surrounding our property prevents the local deer from wandering into the yard.

  The woods seem still now. Just the sounds of birds chirping overhead. Maybe I was imagining things. I have been on edge in the past few days. But no, there it is again. It’s coming from behind Nicole’s studio. It’s probably one of those damn reporters. Just like the bottom feeder who scaled the property wall to photograph Nicole in her bikini yesterday.

  And that’s it for me. I will not stand for my wife to be gawked at like a zoo animal in her own home, especially in this space that might be the only place she can find peace right now. I feel something inside of me come undone. All the anger I’ve had to bite back for the last few days is set free, and without a second thought I find myself sprinting through the woods. My legs are pumping furiously, the ground soft and spongy beneath the soles of my leather shoes. I feel my footing slip, my ankle twisting painfully as it rolls on the soft earth, but I do not care. Not now. I am a man possessed and I am going to find out who was lurking around my wife.

  I see the outer wall now, visible between the trees. I draw near just in time to see the form of a man, a dark hooded sweatshirt pulled over his head, hoisting himself atop of the stones. He appears to be shorter than I am, and having some trouble maneuvering his way over the wall. I know I can catch him. He’s nearly within my reach. There is something so familiar about his form, about the slope of his shoulders, the roundness of his back as he clambers to safety. Could it be Jeff?

  ‘Stop!’ I yell.