Detective Burns led me into a room and I sat on a metal fold out chair with a camera pointed directly at my face. “Is that thing on?” I ask her, looking at the red light.
“Yes, it is.”
I took in a deep breath and she sat in front of me.
“Did you murder your husband?” she asked.
My face burned with anger and I felt my shoulders tighten as her question rang in my ears. I should have known that question would be asked when she explained we were all suspects, but actually hearing it was almost unreal. “Absolutely not.”
“Did you and your husband have a happy marriage?” she asked, relaxing back in her chair.
This was not going to go well. But I knew that lying would get us nowhere. “No, we did not,” I answered truthfully and I felt my stomach tighten from the guilt in admitting that now that he was gone.
Her eyes held mine and I couldn’t read what was in them. “Are you saying that you will be happier without him?”
Tears built in my eyes again from the harshness of her question and I fought them away. If she wanted to be blunt, then so would I.
“My husband and I were not happy. We did not have a good marriage. Was I in love with my husband? Probably not considering I don’t even know what that means anymore. But I did love my husband. I would never…” I tried to finish but my voice broke and I gave up trying.
“Where were you Saturday evening?”
“I was home.”
“And do you have anyone who can confirm that?”
“I was alone,” I said, realizing how I was sitting myself up to be even more of a suspect than I was before. I had no alibi. I had no one to verify that I was home because why would I? I spent all my nights alone. I didn’t know that I would ever need someone to back that up.
“We received an anonymous tip this morning. We are working toward tracing that call now, but we have reason to believe it came from the murderer.”
“What? What did they say? Can you find them?” I asked, the words spilling from my mouth so quickly that Detective Burns’ face pinched as she tried to understand my rambling.
“The man was very specific with where to find the body, and he named Carson specifically.”
My eyes started to blur and I realized I had been holding my breath. “Named him? So, he did know him personally?” I could feel my emotions getting away from me then while I tried to imagine what would cause someone to do this to my husband.
“Yes, Chloe. We also have a very clear footprint at the scene. It is a man’s shoe that does not match the pattern to Carson’s footwear. I believe this case will be solved quickly, Chloe. I hope that can at least bring you some comfort.”
Comfort? Is there comfort in this situation? Solving the case will not make it go away, not for me. Not for Carson.
“How do you feel about your husband’s infidelity?” she asked.
“Obviously, I do not feel good about it. But we don’t even know if that is true,” I said defensively.
She stood and walked out of the room without saying anything else. I looked to the camera and back at the door as I started to feel myself sweating from the pressure. This woman had a way that made everything I said seem like I had just said the exact opposite of what she wanted to hear. The door finally opened and she walked back in and dropped a folder on the table before she sat down.
“Chloe, I am going to show you some pictures that may be hard for you to see.”
My stomach tightened watching her open the folder. I had just felt my husband’s dead cold face against my hand, so I couldn’t really imagine what she would think would be hard for me to see at this point. But she was right, I cried out and reached for the picture that laid in front of me. The focus on this picture was cruel and I could count every one of his eyelashes. The sheet still covered him but it was pulled to reveal down to his shoulders. I brushed my finger along his now pale and lifeless face and closed my eyes as I thought back to how I had seen him when we first met. His perfect bone structure and his bright confident eyes. His life…
“Chloe, did you and your husband have any physical contact on Saturday?”
I thought back to the morning when he left. I stood in the bedroom with him and watched him straighten his tie perfectly, he never even looked at me. It was like he didn’t even know I was in the room with him. He grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door and I invisibly stood by. He shouted a rehearsed goodbye and I listened to the door close behind him. I didn’t even respond. I never even told him goodbye…
“No.”
“Chloe, would you consent to me sending a team over to search your home while you and I speak?” she asked, pulling her phone from the case on her belt.
“Uh, no. I do not have a problem with that,” I said, watching her prematurely dialing the number.
She hung up the phone and pulled another picture from the folder. Her eyes held mine while she slid it across the table. I looked down and studied a smudge on the side of Carson’s neck. The color was red, but not like the blood that stained his face.
“What is that?” I asked, pulling the picture closer.
“We believe that is lipstick, Chloe.”
I shook my head while I studied the color more and I couldn’t fight my anger towards Carson. I know that it is terrible to feel so angry with him right now, but she is right: this is lipstick. I push the picture back to her and fall back into my chair, biting down on my lip trying to ignore my disgust.
She slowly picked the picture back up and laid it in the folder. She kept her eyes on me, “We will be taking all red shades of lipstick that you own for comparison.”
I laughed even though I knew this was not the right time to be laughing. I shrugged my shoulders and felt another tear forming. “I have never worn any shade of red lipstick in my life,” I said harshly as I thought of what kind of woman had worn the shade that now stains my dead husband’s neck.
“So, you are telling me they will not find any red lipstick at your home?”
“No, they most definitely will not. That lipstick belongs to another woman.”
She leaned closer to watch my face and I knew that she could tell I was angry. I knew she could tell I was furious, but I didn’t even care.
“Are you married?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Is your husband faithful to you?” I asked before I lost out to my tears again. “I am so sorry, that is none of my business. I am just having a really hard time right now finding out that my husband has been murdered and also has been having an affair.”
“I understand, Chloe. I think that is enough questions for today. I can have an officer drive you home.”
“That is not necessary. I will ride with Mila and Brian. Thank you.”
She nodded and stood to hold the door for me. I walked out and saw Mila sitting across the hall. I sat down beside her and we both looked into the room where Brian was talking to the red headed detective.
“He was having an affair, Mila.”
I watched her face tighten and she reached over to take my hand. “You don’t know that for sure.”
“Yes, I do. He has lipstick on his neck that doesn’t belong to me.”
She quickly looked over to me, studying my face. Her eyes squinted and she pressed her lips together. I waited for a response but nothing came. She just slowly looked back to the room at Brian.
I noticed how Brian’s face was filled with pure sadness, and I envied that. I wanted to only feel that grief Brian was feeling. I should only be feeling that. But I am so hurt by the proof of his affair that I cannot help but be angry with him, even now. Getting a knock on your door to hear that your husband has been murdered is indescribable. It is a day that no woman wants to endure. No one woman wants to learn that her husband has been having an affair either. So, when you mix those into the same day, I guess anger is an understandable reaction.
I could hear the heavy sound of footsteps coming down the hall and I turned to see
a man dressed in a black suit, his posture was over corrected causing his arms to fall awkwardly to his back instead of his sides. He wasn’t smiling, but completely focused, and my eyes were drawn to his suitcase. He stopped at the door to the room Brian was in and quietly knocked as he turned the handle. He was a lawyer.
“Why does Brian need a lawyer?” I asked Mila, sitting up further in the chair to watch him sit next to Brian.
“I don’t know, Chloe. I don’t know what is going on in there.”
I didn’t feel any reason to need a lawyer and I am the wife of a cheating rich husband who had no alibi. Why would Brian need to hire a lawyer? It does not make sense. I know that Brian would never have done this but there must be something he felt like he needed to protect himself from.
I look to Mila and can see her face filling with worry as she watches. We sat quietly for several hours before Brian and his lawyer finally walked out of the room. Mila jumped up and ran to Brian and he smiled at her to settle her worry. The lawyer completely disregarded us as he walked passed and I watched him confidently walk out of the station.
“Brian, what is going on?” I asked defensively. Statistically, I should have been the number one suspect and my questioning was brief at best. Brian was in the room for hours and accompanied by a lawyer. Maybe I shouldn’t put so much weight on the fact they were such close friends…
He put his hand on my shoulder trying to offer me comfort as well and I watched Mila staring at his hand touching me. I stepped away feeling uncomfortable from both of their reactions and looked to Brian while I waited for his explanation.
“Chloe that was just a friend who was bringing legal documentation of ownership of the firm. I didn’t hire council. They wanted proof that I had nothing to gain from Carson’s passing.”
I hadn’t even considered if Brian would benefit from this. “Do you?” I asked and I could feel his insult as I regretted even asking. I knew that he would never do this. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean…” I tried to explain.
“It is okay, Chloe. And no, it is actually quite the opposite.”
We all walked silently out of the station and I tried to shake the guilt that I felt for blurting that accusation out at him. We drove to my house and they got out to walk me inside.
“Chloe, I think maybe it would be a good idea if you stayed with us for a while,” Brian said.
Mila smiled at me, “We just don’t know why this happened and we would rather know that you are safe.”
I turned to look around the empty house and smiled back at them. “I will be fine. I will set the alarm as soon as you leave.”
Mila reluctantly hugged me goodbye and I closed the door behind them. I keyed in the alarm code and walked to the kitchen. I opened the trash can and stared down at Carson’s cake and cried at the thought of how he had been lying in that park, dead, while I threw away his birthday cake.
I had spent all of these years resenting him for his lack of effort in our marriage but I never took responsibility for my own negligence. I am so mad at him for cheating, but honestly, can I even blame him now? We both had grown apart and it wasn’t only his fault, it was mine as well. I had settled for a loveless marriage when I could have just as easily fought for the love that we once had shared. We had both given up.
I took a bottle of wine and went to the living room, grabbing our wedding picture on my way to the sofa. Our smiles were painted with love and happiness and we had just promised to love each other for the rest of our lives. I would have never imagined then that it would have been such a short commitment.
Our wedding was nothing less than extravagant. Carson didn’t do anything simple. He had money and he loved to show that off. We were married in a beautiful cathedral church with more guests than I could even greet. My dress cost more than most even budget for their entire wedding and my shoes cost more than most dresses. I didn’t like to flaunt the fact that we had money, but Carson’s budget was set at a minimum instead of a maximum. He told me I couldn’t walk down the aisle in something that wouldn’t impress him. “It better impress me and God,” he said. Our wedding was the first time I actually felt like a possession to him. But I was too naive to admit it then. Isn’t that messed up? In hindsight, I would have considered the proposal the same show of ownership if at the time, I wasn’t so in awe of the five-karat diamond weighing my finger down. He proposed to me in a restaurant, which would have been fine if it hadn’t been for the reason that he wanted everyone to see the size of the ring. He didn’t even profess his love for me in the proposal. It was mainly him on one knee, scanning the room with an attention hungry grin on his face. “Will you be my wife?” That was all he said to me. The rest of the two-minute-long proposal was for the crowd.
We flew to Paris for our honeymoon and spent an incredible two weeks celebrating our marriage. There was no real world to us when we were there. We only had each other and we were completely blissful in each other’s embrace. We were enough for each other back then, or at least it seemed that way in the most romantic city in the world. I would give anything to be able to go back to the way we felt during those two weeks.
When we came home, life took over. We got swept away in busy lives and we became nothing more than a habit to each other. We weren’t together because we were in love, we were together because it made sense. We lost the spark we once had and we became comfortable just going through the motions with each other. But eventually, we quit even trying to do that.
Maybe his mistress was exciting; exciting women wear red lipstick. Maybe she wasn’t just an obligation to him. And maybe, I shouldn’t be so angry with him for being human. If I were so unhappy, I can only assume that he was too. People handle things differently and obviously, he handled it much more drastically than I would have.
I could have had my own affairs. Maybe he just had assumed that I was, the way I assumed the same of him. I remember the first time another man looked at me the way I wished my husband still did. I was reading down at the marina. I looked up from my steamy romance novel to see a man, probably Latin, leaning against the hoist of his sailboat staring at me. His white shorts and matching boat shoes almost glowed against his deeply tanned skin. He hadn’t set sail yet, and he smiled to me, offering a flirtatious invitation to board his boat. It was tempting, there is no denying that, but I ignored it. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself knowing that I had broken that vow to Carson. I wouldn’t put effort into another man when I didn’t bother putting the effort into my own husband. And while I may be able to try and understand Carson’s reasoning for cheating, I cannot forgive him for it.
The phone rings and I sit the picture down beside me as I stand to answer it. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply when I read his mother’s name on the caller ID, regretting not leaving the phone in pieces on the floor. I didn’t know what to say to her. I don’t have any answers to the questions that I know she is going to ask and honestly, I don’t have it in me right now to try and comfort her. I have no comfort to give.
I am sure she is already booking flights and possibly even on her way here now. That woman hates me and she always has. No woman could ever be good enough for her son, especially not some waitress he met at a wine bar. I have always dreaded her visits, but now Carson will not be here to intercept. I silenced the call and fell back onto the sofa.
I shivered, feeling my hair tingle. The kind of feeling you get when someone is watching you. I could feel it now, like I wasn’t alone. I looked around the dark living room, thinking I would see Carson, more so hoping I would. “Carson?” I whispered into the air, feeling childish for entertaining the idea of ghosts, but mainly feeling unsettled by the thought that he could really be here. I held my breath, waiting for something, although I didn’t know what exactly I was expecting, and listened to the ticking of the clock echo through the house. The light coming through the patio door was casting shadows of the furniture up onto the walls. The couch’s silhouette was nearly reaching the ceiling and I
watched the shadows of the rippling water dancing in the pool sparkling against the white walls. I had goosebumps on my arm, the feeling that someone was watching me was growing stronger when the perfect shadow of a man darted across the wall right in front of me. I jumped, grabbing my chest in an effort to keep myself steady and turned to look out at the patio. My heart is now pounding louder than the clock and I slowly walk across to the patio door. No one. There was no one there.
“Stop this, Chloe,” I mumble, knowing that allowing myself to act this way could lead down a long road of prescription medications and couches next to a leather bound notebook. I lay down on the sofa and pull the throw pillow to my face, crying loudly into it. I have been so alone for these past years, but I still had the comfort of knowing that Carson was here. But now he is not just distant, he is gone, dead - murdered. And I don’t know how to be without him. I don’t even know who I am without him.
Chapter Three
The moonlight lit the blanket of fog in the tree line and I stumbled through. The wet ground beneath my bare feet made it hard for me to push through, but I knew he was there. I could feel him. “Carson!” I cried out. I stopped when I saw him and my feet started to sink further into the ground. I struggled to pull them out and ran to his side. “Carson,” I cried, reaching to uncover his face. His hand quickly shot from beneath the sheet and gripped hard around my wrist. The coldness of his fingers around my wrist sent a chill through my body. I struggled to pull away from him and he slowly sat up to face me. The sheet fell away as he rose and his once bright eyes were now replaced with black pits that stared deep into me. I wanted to run, but couldn’t break free from his grasp. “Chloe!” he screeched. The voice was not like anything I had ever heard. It was not the voice of my husband.
I jumped up from the sofa, face sweating and breathing heavily from the vividness of the dream. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to see him like that. I had never seen a dead body before, not in person. I had taken a class in college that studied the behavior of serial killers. There were pictures painting the chalkboard on a daily basis. Blood and gore pictures. Actual crime scene photos, but it was different. Seeing them printed on paper was nothing compared to seeing it in person. Being next to Carson, I could see the different shades of red on the sheet. Some deeper burgundy, almost black. Some were brighter, crimson patches. Some spots were thinner while others seemed to be thickly soaking the material. I felt his cold skin, and I felt his lifeless body. I saw the purple capillaries forming like spider webs under his nearly translucent, blueish skin that seemed pale in comparison to the deep blue lips that sat on his stone like face. I could feel the gruesome death that hung above him. Those are things you do not see in a picture. Those are the details that will haunt me.
The Things We Don't See Page 4