by Adam Zorzi
CHAPTER
FIFTY-SIX
May
“Mr. Ramsay, we'd like you to walk us through events again, if you don't mind.”
He felt like he was never going to get out of a windowless room with Elba and Winston. Ha! Last week he'd considered them friends of the family working towards a common goal. Now, he realized they considered him a suspect. Their best suspect. At least, he had Lombardi sitting in one of the rock hard metal chairs next to his. No beverages had been offered. With Lombardi there as his protector, the investigators had no need to try to soften him up or lull him into tripping over his answers. He probably should have been nervous, but Lombardi's bulldog personality comforted him at least enough to answer coherently. “Anything, if it will find the villain who did this to Jill.”
“Let's start with before Mrs. Ramsay left Saturday morning.”
“I'd loaded her bike on the car the night before because I knew she wanted to get an early start. When I got up to see her off, she was having second thoughts. She said we couldn't afford it. Everything except gas was already paid so I told her to go. She did.”
“Earlier you said she was worried and nervous. Why did you think she was nervous?”
Lombardi nodded for him to answer the question. She'd told him beforehand to wait for her to object before answering. If she didn't, keep his answers short, remain polite, and pay attention to exactly what was being asked.
“I got the impression she was stalling. Almost as if she wanted me to agree so she didn't have to go.”
“Why would she not want to go?”
“She'd mentioned a couple of times earlier in the week that she was rusty and not up to her usual level. Even on bad days, Jill was as good or better than most of her teammates.” He had to admit the second possibility. “This was her first team outing since she found out I was having an affair. She said once she'd been humiliated enough. She was embarrassed.”
“Why would she be embarrassed? You were the cheater.”
“Nice try, Detective Elba. Move along,” said Lombardi.
“Any other reason she mentioned?”
“She didn't. I did. I thought it was too much to train and drive roundtrip. She said she'd stay with a teammate in Fredericksburg if she was too tired to drive. Even before we had problems, she never listened to me about cycling.”
“Did you discuss your marital problems with anyone?”
“Only my psychiatrist. No one else. “
“Which is privileged,” interjected Lombardi. “Keep moving, Detective.”
“So if anyone knew about the affair and your marital problems it was because Mrs. Ramsay told them and they told someone else and so on.”
“Yes.”
“This was about six o'clock Saturday morning?”
“Yes.”
“What happened next?”
“I went back to bed for a couple of hours. When I got up, I saw that it was a beautiful day. I didn't want to stay inside and work on my résumé and look for jobs online. I wanted to get out of town. I drove to Virginia Beach, had a long run, and got home about seven. I made dinner, watched TV, and went to bed.”
“We're checking that out. Trying to see if your story can be confirmed.”
“It's not a story, Detective. It's what I did.”
“So, you went to bed before midnight.”
“Yes. I got up about three o'clock because it was raining hard and I wanted to make sure the windows were closed in the office. I noticed Jill wasn't back and assumed she'd spent the night with her teammates.
“I went back to bed and slept until eleven o'clock. I was pretty sore from my run so I went to my health club and stopped to wash the car on the way. I had a massage, took some steam, and played shuffleboard with my neighbor.”
“That checks out.”
“The neighbor mentioned that I was late picking up Katie from a sleepover, so I came home to make sure someone else hadn't brought her home. You know the rest.”
“And you were sleeping in the guest room because you were having marital difficulties.”
“That's established, Detective Elba,” interrupted Lombardi.
“The woman with whom you had the affair was Bella Davis, your girlfriend during the time you were at UVA.”
“Yes.”
“You haven't been in touch with her since the affair ended.”
“Correct.”
“Mr. Ramsay, Bella Davis is dead.”
Stinging, searing, slashing pain ripped through Dan's heart. He stumbled out of his chair to the metal waste basket where he puked his guts out. He was sobbing and puking. He wanted to die. Bella. Beautiful, brilliant, passionate Bella couldn't be dead. Not now.
“My client needs a break. Find him an escort to a men's room.”
***
Dan sat frozen in his chair next to Lombardi and across from Elba in a different, larger room. Winston stood silently by the door. A can of ginger ale was next to him. He didn't know why it was there. He wrapped his right hand around the chilled wet can. The cold was comforting.
“How? How did she die?”
“Suicide. She hanged herself.”
“Oh dear God,” he sobbed. He put his head down on the metal table and wept uncontrollably.
Lombardi and Elba sat without speaking until Dan started rambling.
“It's all my fault. I didn't mean to hurt her. I didn't think she'd be that upset.” He'd killed the best part of himself.
Winston waited until his sobs quieted. “Mr. Ramsay, Ms. Davis hung herself three days after 9/11. She had clients and friends in the WTC. Her husband died the previous year. She was overcome with loss.”
Was he being punk'd? “That's impossible. I had an affair with her last year.”
“Perhaps you can explain that.”
Lombardi stood. “We're done. Anything further would be speculation on my client's part.”
She pulled Dan up by his left arm and hustled him out the door. Dan, still sobbing, leaned against a wall. Lombardi went to Winston when he came out of the interrogation room. She stood within hearing distance of Dan.
“Nice. Could've just shot him.” She held out her hand. “What've you got.”
Winston handed her a folder. “Autopsy report. Death certificate. Obit. Press clippings. Probate. Everything, at least $25 million plus proceeds from the sale of the East Hampton house, Central Park West co-op, and a villa in St. John, went to a wildlife charity.”
“Thanks.” She took the folder, pulled Dan away from the wall, and headed towards the elevator bank. “Lamb, out.”
CHAPTER
FIFTY-SEVEN
Lombardi hustled Dan into her car in the police parking garage. They sat. She made no move to start the car. “Explain.”
“I can't. They're wrong. I spoke to her in December. She couldn't have died almost fifteen years ago.” Dan cried harder.
“Try again.”
“You think I made her up?”
“She makes a good suspect.”
“Why would I say I had an affair if I didn't?” He inched away from Lombardi toward the window.
“Impersonator?”
“No, it was Bella. I know her. Her voice, her body, how her mind works,” he couldn't stop crying. “Maybe she faked her death after 9/11.”
“Positive ID and autopsy.” She turned sideways to face him. “Who's picking you up?”
“My mother. When I call. She's doing some shopping.”
“Call her.”
She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel while Dan called his mother. “Not good, Lamb.”
He was incapable of following her train of thought. What wasn't good? She had an uncanny ability to read his mind.
“One less suspect.” She started the car. “Out. I'll call.”
She backed out of the parking space almost before he could get out of her way.
***
“Better?”
Dan threw up his hands. He didn't know if he was better.
What he knew was his mother had taken one look at him, driven him to his psychiatrist's office, and Dr. Spellman had given him Klonopin. That was half an hour ago. Dr. Spellman saw his last patient before lunch and now sat across from him expecting answers.
“What's bothering you most?”
“That they're saying Bella died years ago when I had an affair with her last year that ended in December.”
“I've looked at the file your attorney faxed me. Why don't you take a look?”
Dan shuffled through the file. His tears fell on the obituary. The date of death was wrong.
The autopsy report indicated her fingerprints matched those the SEC had on file when she received clearance. She'd been positively identified by one of her law partners. Death by hanging herself from a silk scarf tied to a doorknob in her apartment overlooking Central Park. His hands shook so much he dropped the folder.
Pictures. Bella's wedding announcement, speaking engagements, professional headshot. All Bella. All gorgeous. Exactly as he had last seen her. And then they stopped.
“They're wrong.”
“What other explanation is there?” Dr. Spellman asked reasonably when he picked them up.
“She faked her death. Things must have been chaotic in the Medical Examiner's office in New York after 9/11. They could've made a mistake. Someone could've provided the wrong files from the SEC.”
“Might someone have taken advantage of you by impersonating her?”
“No,” he shouted. “I know Bella,” he shouted louder and stood. “I know every inch of her body. I know how her mind works.” By now, he was shouting as loud as he could and waving his arms wildly. “I don't love an impersonator.” He headed for the door.
“Mr. Ramsay. You're not leaving. I'm putting you on a 72-hour hold.”
Wild-eyed, Dan opened the door and ran down three flights of steps to the lobby where he was subdued by two security guards. He kicked and screamed while he was loaded into an ambulance headed to Richmond Memorial Hospital for suicidal ideation and stabilization. Suicide watch.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-EIGHT
He walked the perimeter of the hospital floor five times in the morning and five times after dinner. He had no idea how to measure his mileage. He couldn't remember how to run. He was grateful for being able to walk. Walking cleared his mind so he could think of nothing. Nothingness. Not anything. Naught.
Dan had been told he spent his first five days sleeping. He'd been sedated upon arrival because he was agitated and lashing out. He'd started receiving a different antidepressant along with an antipsychotic. By the fifth day, Dan woke up on his own and stayed alert through lunch. An afternoon nap got him through dinner and visiting hours.
Rob must have come early in his stay. Dan found two pairs of sweats pants without drawstrings, five tee shirts that must have come from his running clothes drawer, and a pair of old running shoes without laces. He wasn't going to be able to kill himself with either shoe laces or drawstrings. He spent at least an hour upon finding the items wondering how he would kill himself with either. Not because he planned to kill himself. It was an intellectual exercise. He came up with nothing.
This afternoon he had a session with a therapist. He couldn't remember any of their names, but they all seemed benign. They asked him repetitive questions and then moved on to other topics.
This afternoon, he wore his sweatpants and a Grateful Dead tee shirt. He sat in a room on a sofa across from a young man in an armchair. “What would you like to have happen?” asked the young man.
“I want to wake up from this nightmare and go on with my life.”
“Are you sleepwalking?”
“No. I'm awake. I feel like I fell off the world and need to get back to my life with my wife and daughter.”
“And their names? I don't see them in my notes.”
“My wife is Jill. My daughter is Kaitlyn with a K. I still call her Katie.”
“Where do the three of you live?”
He gave his address and described the house. He mentioned that Jill's great-grandmother's ugly furniture was gone. Jill's mother had sent it back to Charleston.
“How's your marriage?”
“We're working it out. I had an affair that started Thanksgiving a year ago. Jill found out this past December. I was sleeping in the guest room, but I'm back in the master bedroom. Things are better.”
“Did you have an affair with someone Jill knew?”
“No. I'd never do that. It was with my college girlfriend, Bella. She's a widow who lives out of town. When my father died, I felt so guilty because Jill took such good care of me. The last words my father said to me were that he was embarrassed I was his son because I'd been having an affair with Bella. I couldn't leave Jill. I promised her I'd never communicate with Bella again and I haven't.”
“Do you think your wife will visit you here?”
“I don't know. She'd have to find a babysitter for Katie. My brother comes, though. He brought me clothes. I haven't actually seen him, yet.”
“Dan, your brother is in the waiting room now. Would you like to see him?”
“Sure.”
The young man held the door open and pointed to the waiting room. Dan shook his hand and said, “Nice meeting you.”
***
The best part of the hospitalization was pet therapy. Even during his earliest days, he woke to find a German shepherd resting his head on Dan's bed or a Pomeranian sleeping at the foot of his bed.
He asked if he could have a dog to take on his walks around the floor. Every morning at ten o'clock, a woman wearing an orange vest that read Pet Therapist would bring a dog who also wore a vest to him. The dog's vest read I am a Therapy Dog and had a medical patch like a boy scout gets sewn on it. She'd introduce them, tell him if there was anything unusual about the dog such as if he or she was deaf, and hand him a leash. She'd join them on the first half of his first circuit and then drop away.
He looked forward to it. He liked all the dogs, but his favorite was a black standard poodle who made him walk a little faster and nuzzled him. He usually got a small dog to nap with him. He had a brown and white Chihuahua with a vest that looked like it had been made for a doll. He smelled them all. He'd bury his face in their fur and feel like everything was right with the world for those few seconds. Most of them licked him. He loved the feel of their wet tongues on his face and hands. He didn't wash his hands before lunch so he could smell the morning dog.
He missed Abbie.
CHAPTER
FIFTY-NINE
Dan's memory gradually returned. One morning he woke to the familiar stomach wrench that reminded him Jill was dead. He still couldn't imagine why anyone would kill her. Maybe those two investigators got it wrong and it wasn't someone she knew. Dan thought it must have been a camper who knew women from the cycling club met in that parking lot. Jill must have been late arriving and the others left without her.
This morning's session was with an older woman with long curly grey hair parted in the middle. She gave off a hippie vibe. Her office smelled of patchouli. He thought she would understand him even if he was wearing a Lacrosse tee shirt. LAX to the MAX.
“I feel like I'm swimming and a wave will wash over me and then another and another until I feel I can't get out of the water because of so much grief. I remember my father is dead. I remember Abbie is gone. I remember Jill is dead.”
“People often refer to being overcome with waves of grief. It's natural.”
“Even when I'm in the water and the waves have already knocked me around, I feel like the biggest one hasn't come yet.”
“Does that make you anxious?” she asked.
“Very.” He couldn't imagine what could be worse. Katie. Katie could make it worse.
“You've experienced a great deal of loss in a short time,” she said sympathetically. “There were these three horrible family losses, but I see in your file that you also lost your job.”
“Yes, and it'll be ha
rd to find another one because I'm over fifty in a young person's field.”
“You lost your lover, too.”
Bella. Gorgeous, brilliant Bella who was the best part of him was dead. He tried hard not to remember.
“Yes, I still can't believe she hanged herself. I didn't think out breakup would affect her so deeply. I've lost both the women I love.”
“And your lover died when?”
“Late December, I think. After Jill found out about the affair and I told Bella I was trying to hold my marriage together.”
“I'm sorry for all your losses. You're carrying a great weight of grief, Mr. Ramsay.” She stood. “I'm going to make a change in your medication to relieve some of your anxiety. Now is not the time to be anxious about finding a job or anything, really.”
Finally, someone understood.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Rob came for dinner three nights later. He hugged Dan and stood back to look at him.
“You've lost weight. Do the sweats still fit?” he asked.
“Yeah.” He walked down the hall to a small solarium. “We can eat in here.” They sat in wicker chairs with a small plastic table between them.
Rob unpacked the bags of cheeseburgers, fries, and sodas. “No utensils, they said.”
“The rules are so weird. How would I kill myself with a plastic spoon?”
A look of alarm crossed Rob's face.
“No, I don't mean that I want to. I just wonder how someone would do it. Someone must have been successful or we'd be allowed to have them.”
“We can eat with our hands. I got extra ketchup for you. No onions on the burger.”
“Thanks.” Dan was startled by the way Rob looked at him. “Do I look bad?”
“I'm not used to seeing you so thin with long white hair. I didn't do the best job with tee shirt selection. World's Greatest Dad is probably seven years old. You alert?” asked Rob as he bit into his burger.