But then … what? It was hard to say what went wrong. The corrosive effect of his money surely played a role. It took willpower to instruct your driver to bring you to the homeless shelter in the Bronx when you could be sitting in the front row of the couture shows instead, and willpower was never Kate’s forte. Griff felt partly responsible, for setting a bad example. His job on Wall Street was a charade, his duties limited to playing matchmaker between his own firm and various powerful clients who were associates of his father’s. It was an endless round of lunches, drinks, and dinners—contentless, well suited to a charming schmoozer who wasn’t smart with numbers, which was how he thought of himself. He should’ve resisted the path laid out for him and done something else, something he liked, though he’d never liked anything much. He’d been a devotee of the gentleman’s C at Carlisle; call it the gentleman’s B-minus with grade inflation. The only classes he ever aced were Intro to Marine Bio and Literature of the Sea, because he loved boats and the ocean, and he loved to sail. Maybe he should have made a meaningful career out of that somehow, instead of being content to cruise the BVI in his yacht, watching the sun set with a mojito in his hand. Although boats turned out to be part of the problem: he took Kate away from New York when she didn’t want to go, so they could spend time on the water.
Around the time of her thirtieth birthday, Kate had begun to slip away from him. It started with a trip they made to Belle River, after Griff was asked to serve as financial chair of his tenth-reunion committee. They were only in town for a few days. She was excited about it at first, planning girl time with her old roommates, but at some point, something went awry. He never found out exactly what, or even if there was a particular triggering incident, though he imagined it had to do with Lucas Arsenault. In any event, depression overwhelmed her, and Kate fell into a deep, dark hole. He got her doctor to prescribe antidepressants, but Kate claimed they made her bloated and stupid. She stopped taking them, and turned instead to her old friends drugs and booze. He hated to see her to get wasted alone, so he joined her, as if that made it better. Pretty soon, they were both partying too much.
There were no natural brakes for their bad behavior. No children who needed care, no fixed hours at work, no financial constraints. Whatever substance they felt like indulging in, they could afford the purest, and in unlimited quantities. They’d go out to clubs or to friends’ estates in the Hamptons, start doing lines, and before Griff knew it, Kate had left with some other guy. He was usually trashed out of his mind by then, and numb to the pain of it. If she left with someone, he’d leave with someone, too. Pretty soon they’d both slept with pretty much everyone they knew, Kate was on the verge of blowing out her septum, Griff’s liver was in trouble, and the whole scene had gotten toxic. They could either get out of town, go to rehab, or get divorced. Kate said rehab was a drag. Griff couldn’t stand to lose Kate. So the solution was obvious—leave New York.
For her thirtieth birthday, he bought her a house in Anguilla, not far from the beach where they’d married. The house was set high in the hills, with views for miles to the aqua bay where the yachts were anchored like so many toys. He whisked her down there on his father’s jet and had her wear a blindfold in the car. They walked in the front door, and she could see straight through the double-height living room to a twenty-foot-high wall of glass, where he’d set up a telescope trained on the bay. He guided her over to it, and directed her gaze at a particular boat sitting proudly in the water, a sleek seventy-foot Hinckley, exquisitely crafted of mahogany, with a navy-blue hull and a white bridge. It was a classic—drop-dead gorgeous under full sail, not too big for Griff to skipper himself (with the aid of a small crew).
He said, “Take a look at the name on the side. I named her the Kate, she’s your boat, baby.”
They spent their days sailing her around to wherever the weather was fairest and the beaches the most secluded. They’d cruise the Caribbean all winter, then have the crew take the boat across and fly to catch it again in the Med, where they’d spend the long summers flitting among whitewashed islands. In between, they’d catch up with friends here and there at posh resorts, over gin and tonics, or land for a while in the best hotels in Palm Beach, Capri, or Gstaad—avoiding New York like that made their problems go away, as if New York was the only place you could be unhappy. Griff was having too good a time to realize they were living his dream, not Kate’s. Yet she didn’t complain. She didn’t seem unhappy with their life, until his father fell from grace, and the money spigot got shut off. Until that moment, Griff never understood that Kate was really only with him for his money. He believed it of everybody else, yes. But never her. He was wrong about that, as it turned out.
There was a knock at the door, and Jenny stuck her head in.
“Griff, I’m really sorry, but there are TV trucks out front. Three of them.”
“How do they know we’re here?”
“I’m not sure they do know, but they know Kate is here. I talked to the funeral director. He’s got private security people coming over right now to lock the place down and make sure she’s not disturbed.”
“Disturbed?” Griff said, going pale.
“I just mean, that nobody sneaks in to take pictures or anything.”
He leapt to his feet. “Where are they? Scumbags. I’ll give them something to photograph.”
Jenny came forward and put her hands on his shoulders soothingly. “Honey, trust me, that’ll just make things worse. We’re going to sneak you out the back, through the garage, and you can discuss the arrangements with the funeral director over the phone. Just give me a minute to set it up. Say your good-byes, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, and closed the door.
Say his good-byes? He walked over to the bier where she lay, and looked down at her knowing that good-bye was impossible. He was going to come out of this situation intact, except for his heart and soul and anything else about him that mattered. Oh, he’d go on—there was money for that. At noon on Friday, Kate’s fortieth birthday, at a moment when they were still legally married, she’d come into the balance of her trust. Griff suspected that that fact explained the timing of her divorce filing. After all those years when he supported her in style, Kate was planning to take her trust money and split. That money was Griff’s now, as her legal heir. It wasn’t much, two hundred and fifty K. Enough to buy a small boat that he could live on in a marina somewhere, to sail again on blue waters, have a drink at sunset and toast to her. Maybe eventually he’d get lonely enough to find some intrepid woman to keep him company. A Mexican girl who took things in stride and knew how to cook, or a South African or Australian who could go for months without seeing port and not mind. But he’d never love her. He’d never love anyone again. If only there was some way around it. If only he could bring Kate back to life.
Jenny was at the door. “Let’s go,” she said.
Griff leaned over and kissed Kate’s cold, pale lips. But unlike Sleeping Beauty in the fairy tale, she did not wake.
29
Sleet pelted the plate-glass windows of the yoga studio as Aubrey rose from her mat at the front of the class. Outside, the river ran gray and cold. She dimmed the lights and flicked on the music. The sound of wind chimes and birdsong filled the airy room, which smelled of exotic woods and incense and was heated to a tropical intensity. Aubrey passed among the closely spaced mats passing out cool towels to be used as eyeshades, gliding with such grace that she appeared to float. Women gazed at her adoringly and accepted her offering, then closed their eyes, and let out a luxuriant breath.
“As we relax into our savasana,” Aubrey said in her most soothing tone, “allow the warmth of the room to penetrate into your breath and through your breath. Cherish the warmth of your body. Relax your fingers and your toes. Open yourself to gratitude. Gratitude for your body. Gratitude for your decision to practice today despite inclement weather, despite other calls on your time and attention. Honor yourself. Honor the winter, that cleanses and redeems. H
onor this moment of peace, that restores and fortifies you for the day ahead. And rest.”
Aubrey flowed toward the front of the room, stopping here and there to make gentle adjustments to a student’s posture. A moment later, she was back on her mat, seated in a perfect lotus, her serene expression belying her anxious heartbeat. The police were in the office across the hall, talking to her assistant. She could see them through the glass door.
A powerful gust of wind drove sleet against the window as Aubrey looked at the clock. It was five minutes too early, but she decided to dismiss the class. She couldn’t stand the suspense a moment longer.
“Allow your eyes to come back to focus beneath your eyelids,” she said, her voice less soothing, more rushed, than usual. “Allow energy to flow back into your limbs. Stretch your arms, wiggle your fingers and your toes. When you’re ready, open your eyes, and come to a seated position.”
When the majority of the class was upright, Aubrey struck the small gong that she used to end each class, and listened as the note flowed out, rich and sonorous. She drew her hands together at her heart and bowed her head.
“Namaste.”
A chorus of namastes echoed back from the smiling students. Usually she lingered after class to answer questions and accept personal expressions of gratitude from her students. Not today, not with the police waiting. Aubrey expertly rolled her mat, rose to her feet in a graceful motion, and walked from the room, leaving a few of the regulars gazing after her in puzzlement.
As she entered the glass-walled office, her assistant Mikayla, round and freckle-faced and normally cheerful, turned to her with alarm. A man and a woman stood in front of Aubrey’s desk. Aubrey recognized the man from the TV news. He was the chief of police.
“These officers are here to ask some questions about your friend who died. I explained I don’t know anything,” Mikayla said.
“Thank you, Mikayla. I’ll take care of this.”
Aubrey shut the door firmly behind Mikayla. “What can I do for you, Officers,” she said.
“You’re Mrs. Saxman?” the man asked.
“Aubrey Saxman, yes. And you are—?”
“Chief Owen Rizzo, Belle River PD, and my colleague, Detective Keisha Charles. We’re investigating the death of Kate Eastman, and we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Was she required to speak with them? Aubrey wondered. Should she refuse, or call a lawyer? Or would that look bad? If only she’d thought about this before the police showed up. She’d expected them to question her at some point, but she never thought it would be so soon. And she’d been too caught up in taking care of Griff to look out for herself.
Aubrey decided the best course of action was to appear cooperative.
“Certainly, have a seat. Can I offer you some tea? Such unpleasant weather,” Aubrey said, taking a seat behind her desk.
“No, thank you, that’s not necessary. We were told you knew Ms. Eastman, is that correct?” Chief Rizzo asked.
“Oh, yes. We were close friends, for twenty years, give or take. I’m devastated at her death,” Aubrey said, looking away, her face puckering.
Rizzo nodded at the female detective, and Aubrey noticed that she started taking notes. That was unnerving. Why would they think anything Aubrey had to say was worth writing down?
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Rizzo said. “When exactly did you last see Ms. Eastman?”
“I—well, I’m not sure,” she said.
“Any guess?”
Aubrey’s stomach fluttered with nerves. She wondered if this was one of those situations like on TV cop shows where they already knew the answer and were trying to catch her in a lie.
“I wouldn’t want to say the wrong thing,” she said, her eyes trailing the detective’s pen as it moved across the page.
“An approximate date would be fine,” he said.
“Let me see. I remember we had lunch a few weeks ago.”
“Just the two of you?”
“No. Jenny was with us. Jenny Healy.”
“The mayor?”
“Yes.”
“Why was she there?” the chief asked.
“Because we’re good friends.”
“You and the mayor?”
“All three of us. We roomed together freshman year at Carlisle. You didn’t know that?” Aubrey said, trying to gauge whether they’d done their homework.
He ignored her question. “So the three of you had lunch several weeks back, and you haven’t seen Ms. Eastman since then?”
“That’s right.”
“What about this past Friday?” Rizzo asked, and Aubrey’s heart stopped.
“Uhh, you mean—?” she asked, stupefied, and shook her head.
“Weren’t you planning to see Ms. Eastman this past Friday? It was her fortieth birthday, and I understood you had a dinner scheduled.”
“Oh! Right, yes. Yes. We did have a plan to take Kate out for her birthday. Jenny and I. It was originally supposed to be the six of us, the three roommates and our husbands, at Henry’s Bistro, but we changed it to a girls’ night.”
“What time were you supposed to meet?”
“Seven o’clock.”
“But it never happened?”
“No.”
“Why not?” the chief asked.
“It got called off.”
“When did that happen?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe that same day.”
“This was only a few days ago. You don’t remember?”
“No, sorry, I’m not good with dates and such,” Aubrey said, with an innocent flutter of her eyelashes. If she played up the airhead-yoga-instructor stereotype, maybe they would go away and leave her alone.
“Why was it canceled?”
“I think Kate was sick.”
“Did you hear that from Kate herself?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe you should ask Jenny. Details aren’t my strong suit. I might be remembering wrong.”
“No worries,” the chief said. “We’re talking to a lot of people. We’re simply trying to develop a timeline of Ms. Eastman’s actions on the day she disappeared, so we can answer questions like who saw her last, and so forth,” the chief said.
“But why does that matter? Wasn’t Kate’s death an accident?” Aubrey asked.
“Maybe, but maybe not. That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” the chief replied.
Aubrey folded her hands, trying to appear calm. There was nothing to worry about here. It was always likely that the police would investigate, and that they might question her. The chief just said, they were talking to a lot of people. It was always a possibility that they might decide Kate’s death was suspicious. None of that should concern Aubrey unduly, since nothing they would find could implicate her.
“If you don’t think it was an accident, then it must have been a suicide, right?” Aubrey said.
“Not necessarily,” Chief Rizzo said. “She didn’t leave a note. So there’s nothing definitive that suggests this was suicide, unless you know something about her state of mind, in which case, please, tell us.”
Aubrey hesitated. If they didn’t think Kate’s death was an accident, and they weren’t considering the possibility of suicide, then that meant they were considering murder, for sure. Could they be thinking that, already? Did they already have a suspect?
“Mrs. Saxman?” the chief prompted.
“Oh, yes, sorry,” Aubrey said. “I’m just a bit hesitant to discuss Kate’s private … troubles.” She had almost said affairs.
“I understand. But this is very important. We’ll keep what you tell us confidential if at all possible,” he said.
“All right, then. If you must know, Kate did have what you could call suicidal tendencies. She made a pretty serious attempt in high school, and talked about killing herself a lot in college. She seemed serious about it. I wouldn’t be surprised, if she got upset, that she might contemplate something like that to this day. It’s something you should be
looking into.”
“I see. Do you have reason to believe she was particularly upset recently?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve been so busy with my kids, and the yoga studio lately. Of course, I regret it now, not making more time for her,” Aubrey said.
“We have reason to believe Ms. Eastman’s marriage was troubled,” Rizzo said. “Can you tell us anything about that?”
Did he know something specific, or was he fishing? If the police hadn’t already found out about Kate and Ethan’s affair, Aubrey wasn’t about to enlighten them. It would only turn the spotlight on her own life.
“I had no idea,” Aubrey said.
“You weren’t aware that she recently filed for divorce?”
Aubrey looked at him in surprise. Was that possible? Was it even true? Surely somebody would’ve told her something as important as that.
“No,” she said. “I didn’t know. I find it hard to believe I wouldn’t have heard.”
“Well, you said you hadn’t talked to Ms. Eastman much lately. Mr. Rothenberg didn’t tell you?” Chief Rizzo asked, watching Aubrey closely.
“Mr. Rothenberg? No, why would he tell me? Kate would’ve been the one to tell me, and she didn’t mention it,” Aubrey said.
“Did you know Kate—Ms. Eastman—had just come into a substantial sum of money? Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, according to bank records that we’ve subpoenaed.”
“I’m not sure Kate would consider that a substantial sum of money. But no, I didn’t know that.”
“It seems like a relevant fact, don’t you think? That leads me to another question. You came to the station Sunday night to pick up Mr. Rothenberg.”
“Yes.”
“So you know Mr. Rothenberg?”
“Sure. I’ve known him since college. Kate was my roommate. Since they were married, I ended up keeping in touch with Griff as well.”
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