Too Far

by Jason Starr

  Maybe a minute later, Jimenez came over to me and said, ‘Wait with the other officers, please. We’ll have more questions for you, I’m sure.’

  With their guns drawn, Jimenez and Riley entered the house. Meanwhile, I was trying to come up with a way to explain why I was here that wouldn’t ruin any chance of getting even partial custody of Jonah. I could say Sophie was showing me the house for a possible listing, but if the cops discovered the Discreet Hookups transcripts, I’d be fucked.

  An ambulance arrived and two male EMS workers came over to where I was waiting with the other officers.

  ‘We’re in there right now,’ the older officer told them.

  After about five minutes, Jiminez and Riley exited the house. Riley spoke to the EMS workers and they entered the house.

  ‘So why did she invite you over?’ Jimenez asked me.

  I could tell it was the second time he’d asked me this. I’d been distracted – by my panic and by watching Riley.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘You her boyfriend or what?’

  ‘Oh, no not really. But I came here to meet her, yes.’

  ‘She let you in?’

  ‘No, no, of course not. She left the door open for me.’

  ‘Why’d she do that?’

  ‘Because she said she would.’

  ‘When did she say she would?’

  ‘Look, it’s a weird situation, okay?’ I was terrified to tell the truth, but I knew there was no way to sugarcoat it. ‘I… I met her online.’

  Jesus Christ, I was starting to cry. I couldn’t help it – the emotion, all of my pent-up disgust with myself, was gushing out. But I was worried the cops would misinterpret it. Did crying make me look upset or guilty?

  ‘Where online?’ he asked.

  Trying to get ahold of myself, I didn’t answer.

  He said, ‘Facebook? Twitter?’

  ‘Discreet Hookups,’ I mumbled.

  ‘What?’

  I knew he’d heard me; he just wanted to hear me say it again, maybe for humiliation’s sake.

  ‘Discreet Hookups.’

  ‘What’s that, some kind of dating site?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I mean, no. I mean, not really.’

  ‘Wait, I’ve heard of it,’ he said. ‘It’s one of those cheating sites, like Ashley Madison.’

  ‘It’s not really like that,’ I said.

  His look said, Yeah, right. In his mind, I was a cheating scumbag and nothing I could tell him would change that.

  But I tried, ‘I mean I didn’t go on the site to cheat. This whole thing, it wasn’t serious, okay? I mean, we just got to know each other and… and we decided to… meet. Just to hang out and say hi, you know?’

  ‘Not serious, huh?’ he said. ‘A woman’s dead and that’s not serious?’

  ‘That’s not what I mean,’ I said. ‘I mean, we weren’t doing anything. We weren’t in any kind of relationship.’

  I saw Jimenez’s eyes shift downward briefly, obviously noticing the wedding band on my left hand, and then his gaze met mine again.

  ‘Look, I had nothing to do with any of this, I swear on my life,’ I said. ‘Obviously I’d rather no one knows I was here.’

  ‘Lemme be clear with you about one thing,’ Jimenez said. ‘We want to find out who killed this woman. We don’t give a fuck about your marriage.’

  I should’ve expected this reaction.

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I totally get that. Obviously what happened here is more important than anything related to me. I’m sorry I even said that. I’m just really nervous right now.’

  If I wanted any chance of Maria not finding out about any of this, I had to be as helpful as possible with the cops, not antagonize them.

  ‘When was the last time you talked to the vic?’ Jimenez asked.

  I had to think for a moment, then said, ‘In person? Never. It was totally an online thing. That’s when she told me about her husband. He’s the guy you should really be talking to.’

  ‘Why? She told you something about her husband?’

  ‘She told me she was in a bad marriage.’

  ‘What does that mean? If every guy in a bad marriage killed his wife there’d be no wives left.’

  ‘It was an abusive marriage, she was scared of him. I’m telling you, you have to check out her husband.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you have an address or phone number?’

  ‘No, but check her cell phone. I’m sure you can find it there.’

  He made a note in his pad as he asked, ‘So tell me again how you discovered the body, Mr Harper?’

  I told him what had happened. Although I was still in shock, I managed to explain exactly what had happened since I’d left my apartment to go meet Sophie. I was very forthcoming and factual and to the point. I needed them to arrest her husband, or whoever had killed her, as soon as possible. Maybe if there was a quick arrest the whole story would go away and Maria would never find out that I had been involved. I was praying that there wouldn’t be a lengthy investigation and that the police didn’t have to talk to me again.

  While I was answering Jimenez’s questions, an ambulance and a few other police cars pulled up in front of the townhouse. One was snazzy and black; it looked like a Charger, and a youngish guy with slicked hair in what looked like a designer suit got out. I figured he was a detective. He was chomping on gum and looked arrogant as hell. Something about him reminded me of Rob McEvoy.

  I was explaining to Jimenez how I came right downstairs and called 911 when he cut me off in mid-sentence, saying, ‘Hold on,’ and went over to talk to the guy in the suit. As Jimenez talked to him, I saw the guy look over in my direction a couple of times. Then the guy came over to me and said, ‘Your name’s Jack Harper.’

  He said this as a statement and, although he was staring right at my eyes, I felt like he was looking through me.

  ‘That’s right,’ I said.

  ‘And you were fucking the victim,’ he said.

  Again, not asking. Again, reminding me of Rob.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t like that at all.’

  ‘Then what was it like?’

  ‘I just explained it to –’

  ‘Explain it again.’

  I felt like I was being interrogated. My lips were quivering and it was hard to speak.

  ‘We just met… online.’

  ‘What were you doing here?’ He was already losing patience.

  ‘We arranged to meet, but I wasn’t going to go through with it. I swear to God. I was planning to call the whole thing off.’

  He couldn’t care less, probably wasn’t even listening to me. ‘How did you get into the building?’

  ‘We arranged it… she left the door open for me.’

  ‘You got here before her?’

  ‘What? No, she was already here. I told you, she was dead when I got here.’

  Maybe I imagined it, but I thought I saw a sarcastic smile crease his face. Then he said, ‘Can you come with me, please?’

  ‘Where am I going?’

  ‘Can you come with me, please?’ He meant it.

  I followed him to the Charger. He opened the back door and asked me to get in.

  ‘Why?’ I asked, and he said, ‘Just get the fuck in.’

  When I got in, he slammed the door and headed back toward the townhouse. Now I was officially scared shitless. Did he actually think I killed her? This was insane. I wondered if I should ask, hell, insist on calling a lawyer. But if I got a lawyer involved, it would cost money and how would I keep it a secret from Maria? I felt like everything was spiraling out of control, going from bad to worse. I imagined glimpses of the possible scene at home – Maria screaming and cursing
at me, Jonah hiding in his room, terrified. The scene was so vivid; it felt like it was already happening.

  I told myself, Relax. Okay, just relax.

  I was probably exaggerating, jumping to a lot of conclusions. I was still in shock too, which had to be skewing things. Maybe this was all routine. Just because he’d asked me to get in the car didn’t actually mean anything. He was a cop, just doing his job. I discovered the body so of course he had to clear me as a suspect. Once he found out more information, got all the facts, he’d let me go home and that would be the end of it. In a few minutes he’d probably return, ask me a few more questions, or maybe just tell me her husband had been arrested and I was free to go.

  Crime scene workers and more cops came and went. Neighbors and news crews had congregated on the street in front of the house. When the EMTs carried the body, covered by a sheet, out of the house, the horror of the situation slammed me again. The vision of the red tie around that poor woman’s neck, how it had contrasted with her pale skin, already felt permanently imprinted in my consciousness, and I knew I’d be haunted by it for a long time, maybe for the rest of my life.

  I watched the ambulance with her body pull away toward Second Avenue until it was out of view. Detective Prick was back in the townhouse. How long had he been here? It seemed like at least an hour. I wondered what he was doing, if he was still investigating, or if he was just trying to make this as difficult as possible for me. Maybe he was planning to keep me waiting all night. It was already almost eight o’clock. If I came back after midnight, Maria would get suspicious, or at least ask me where I was. I’d need to coordinate with my friend Roger from AA to back up any explanation I came up with. Maybe I could say a bunch of us went back to his place to watch a movie, or movies. That seemed somewhat plausible. But what if Prick was planning to take me back to a precinct? Couldn’t he legally hold me for questioning for twenty-four hours or longer? I had no idea how the law worked in these cases and I didn’t want to have to consult with a lawyer to find out. I just wanted to get out of here, go home, and try to put this whole nightmare behind me.

  At around eight fifteen, Prick finally left the townhouse, exchanged some words with Jimenez and another officer, and then returned inside without even glancing in my direction.

  A few minutes later, when Jimenez was within earshot, I knocked on the window.

  When he opened the door, I asked, ‘How much longer do I have to stay here?’

  ‘Just stay where you are, okay?’ he said.

  It was clear to me now that they were treating me like a criminal. Prick went in and out of the house a couple more times and didn’t bother to even glance in my direction, acting like he’d forgotten about me. Jimenez passed me again, got into his squad car with the female officer he’d come with, and drove away.

  It was nine o’clock and I’d been in the car for almost two hours. I had to piss badly. I was about to ask another officer how much longer I’d have to wait when Prick appeared again and headed in my direction. He opened the car door and said, ‘Get out.’

  As I got out, I said, ‘Look, I really don’t understand why –’

  ‘Shut up,’ he said.

  Two officers came over to me and the older, graying one said, ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  ‘Where am I going?’ My pulse was pounding.

  ‘Manhattan South, 35th Street,’ the other cop said. He was younger, had a thick Brooklyn accent.

  I looked back toward Detective Prick – yeah, like I’d get any support from him – but he was gone, probably back in the house.

  ‘This is crazy,’ I said. ‘I discovered the body, that’s it.’

  Gesturing with my arm, I accidentally hit the officer on the side of his shoulder.

  ‘We gonna have to cuff you?’ the younger officer asked.

  I noticed all the neighbors, watching me being taken away. Afraid someone would recognize me or, much worse, photograph or videotape me, I pressed my chin against my chest and stared at the ground. I’d never felt more humiliated.

  They put me in the back of the squad car and drove me to a precinct across town on 35th near Eighth Avenue. I knew I could, or even should, call a lawyer, but I was still most concerned about the possible consequences with Maria. If I had to wait for a lawyer I would get home late, even tomorrow morning, and how would I explain that? I didn’t want any drama; I just wanted this to blow over. With any luck, there would be an arrest soon and I’d be released with no hoopla. I didn’t care if I had to stay in an unhappy marriage for the rest of my life. I just wanted the cops to find Sophie’s killer, and I wanted my old life back.

  Like a mantra, I whispered to myself, ‘Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm.’

  Maybe I was whispering louder than I realized because the younger cop, not driving, looked back over his shoulder and glared at me.

  At the precinct, I finally was allowed to pee, then they took me right to an interrogation room. I asked how long this was going to take, and the older cop said, ‘I’d make myself comfortable.’

  They left me alone in the room. There was a table, two chairs, nothing else. I sat in one of the chairs for maybe twenty seconds, then got restless and started pacing. Shit, it was past nine o’clock. For all I knew they were planning to keep me here all night. I wondered if they’d found Sophie’s husband yet. Once they did, it wouldn’t take long for them to figure out that he’d killed her. What had I been thinking, getting into the middle of this mess? She’d obviously been in a crazy, volatile situation with her husband. Any sane person would’ve run away, but I’d sprinted right toward her.

  I waited for about an hour and no one came into the room, even to give me an update on how long I had to wait. At one point, I opened the door and peeked out to the hallway. A cop saw me and said, ‘Back into the room, please.’

  Finally, at about ten thirty, Detective Prick strolled in. There was no hello or apology. He didn’t even make eye contact.

  This time I decided not to speak until I was spoken to. I was sitting in the seat facing the door and he commanded, ‘Sit in the other seat.’

  I switched seats. I had to pee badly, but this was the least of my concerns. The small room already reeked of his cologne.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said, ‘from the beginning.’

  ‘Why am I being interrogated?’ I asked. ‘All I did was find her body and call the police. I should be commended.’

  He smirked, as if he found that amusing, then said, ‘Look, I just want to know what happened. At this point you’re a witness, not a suspect.’

  At this point. What was that supposed to mean?

  ‘Fine,’ I said.

  As calmly as I could, I summarized what had happened over the past several days, from meeting Sophie online, to discovering her body tonight in the townhouse. Prick was looking at his phone as I spoke, occasionally tapping the keyboard. He seemed like he was taking notes, but for all I knew he could’ve been texting with his girlfriend. Meanwhile, I was focusing on my tone. I wanted to sound calm, logical, forthcoming, and I thought I was doing an excellent job of it. I didn’t see how he could possibly think I was a suspect. After I finished talking, I expected him to ask me a few follow-up questions and then tell me I was free to go. Instead, when I was describing how I’d called 911, he cut me off, saying in a very gruff tone, ‘Did you touch the body at all?’

  ‘Yeah, I already told the cop,’ I said. ‘When I saw her I rushed over and loosened the tie around her neck and tried to, you know, revive her. I did mouth-to-mouth, but she was already dead. I mean, I did my best, but it was clear she was dead. That’s when I called 911.’

  ‘You own a red tie?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘It’s a simple question. Yes or no?’

  ‘If you think I –’

  ‘I asked if you own a red tie.’

  ‘No, I don�
�t own a red tie, and I had absolutely nothing –’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Was I sure? I was so anxious I couldn’t be sure of anything.

  ‘I feel like you’re interrogating me again,’ I said.

  ‘I think we both want the same thing,’ he said, ‘a fast arrest in this case. So the more you cooperate, the faster we can get to the truth.’

  ‘I have a tie that’s mostly red,’ I said, ‘but it wasn’t the tie around her neck. If that’s what you think, you’re –’

  He cut me off with: ‘According to your story, you were only in that room for, what, about a minute? Less? You were panicking, adrenaline out of control. But yet you’re telling me you took a good look at the tie.’

  ‘It wasn’t my tie,’ I said firmly.

  ‘There were actually four ties,’ Prick said. ‘We found three more in her pocketbook.’

  ‘So if she had three ties in her pocketbook doesn’t that seem to indicate that the fourth tie was hers?’

  ‘Somebody could have put the ties there,’ he said.

  ‘I only saw the one tie,’ I said.

  ‘I didn’t say you, I said somebody. Do you have any idea why she would’ve brought four men’s ties to a meeting with you?’

  Remembering our chat last night about bondage, I said. ‘Yeah, I guess that makes sense.’

  ‘What make sense?’

  ‘The ties were probably to…’

  I really didn’t want to get into this, make it part of the official record of the case, but I didn’t know how to avoid it.

  ‘To…’ he asked.

  ‘To be tied up with,’ I said. Then added quickly, ‘It wasn’t my idea, it was hers, and we weren’t going to actually do it. I told you I was planning to –’

  ‘Go home, I know.’ His tone oozed sarcasm.

  ‘Seriously, what’re you trying to do here,’ I asked, ‘question me or humiliate me? You should get her husband down here. He’s the one who did this.’

  ‘So this is a kink of yours,’ Prick said matter-of-factly. ‘You like to tie chicks up when you bang them.’

  ‘That was her idea, not mine.’