by Jason Starr
“What kind of weird stuff?” Larry asked.
“Really weird stuff… They had their clothes off.”
Now Larry was bending down, to talk to Kyle at eye level.
“This is very important,” he said. “Do you know where your brother is now?”
“He’s just a dumb kid,” Raymond said, “what’s he know?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Larry screamed at Raymond. Then to Kyle, calmly, “Do you know where your brother is?”
“No.” Kyle looked and sounded scared. “I’m not gonna get him in trouble, am I?”
Larry rushed out of the house, calling Nick, telling him that Owen was probably their guy.
“I’ll get the word out immediately,” Nick said, “and we’ll try to track down the GPS. What’s Owen’s number?”
Larry gave it to him.
In the car, Larry called Owen, figuring maybe he’d just pick up. He was surprised when he did.
“Hello.”
“Owen?”
“Yeah.”
Larry went for a relaxed tone. “This is Detective Larry Walsh with the Bedford Police.”
Pause, then Owen said, “Okay,” sounding suspicious.
Larry didn’t want to tip him off that they were onto him. Calmly, he said, “I’m calling about Karen Daily. I understand you were at the country club when Deborah Berman and Karen were fighting the other day, and I just wanted to meet with you, to ask you a few questions about—”
The call disconnected.
Larry called back, but got voicemail. He’d probably turned his phone off—so much for tracking his GPS.
“Shit, goddamn it!”
Larry knew he’d made a mistake; calling Owen had been impulsive, stupid. Now Owen might try to run or, worse, he might go to his girlfriend, Elana Daily’s house, if he wasn’t there already.
He called Karen, to try to warn her, but the call went right to voicemail as well. Did Owen turn her phone off?
It was all Stu’s fault. Larry was usually level-headed, rational, but tonight he had too much on his mind, wasn’t thinking straight, and now a suspect who may have killed two women, might get away, or might kill again.
“Fuck you too, Stu!” Larry shouted as he sped toward Karen Daily’s house on Savage Lane.
FOR MARK, it was all hitting home. For the past couple of days he’d been so absorbed with being angry at Deb for causing a drunken scene in the country club, and asking for a divorce, that he hadn’t really considered the possibility that she could be dead. But after he returned from Karen’s, trying to get her to confess—he’d recorded their conversation on his phone just in case—he was overwhelmed by everything that had happened and broke down crying. He didn’t want the kids, especially Justin, to see him so upset, so he went into the bathroom and sat on the closed toilet seat, sobbing so uncontrollably that he used up almost an entire roll of toilet paper to soak up his runny nose and tears. His thoughts were jumbled, but mostly he kept flashing back to the good times with Deb, when they’d first met in the city at that bar on Amsterdam Avenue. She was with friends and he was with friends and his first words to her were, “Do I know you?” They joked about that for years, because it had sounded like such a shitty, corny pickup line, but the truth was he really did think he knew her. There was something familiar about her, she was like an old friend. When they were dating, those first few years, they were best friends, went everywhere together—Europe, Mexico, to a share in the Hamptons in summers—and he couldn’t imagine that things would ever change. But now, as he was crying, and thought, Do I know you? It had a different meaning, because somehow, after getting married, kids, a house in Westchester, she had become a total stranger. He had no idea how things had changed so drastically, gotten so fucked up. All those things should have brought them closer together, not farther apart, but look what had happened. He didn’t know how they’d gotten from point A to point B, from the smiling, happy kids at that Upper West Side bar, to this. They weren’t even the same people. They’d become characters in a movie, strangers.
Now Mark was thinking about Jimmy Stewart in It’s a Wonderful Life. Like Stewart, Mark just wanted one more chance to do it over, do it right. Although everything had gone to hell lately, he still loved Deb, and he still needed her, and the kids loved her and needed her too. If he could just rewind a few years, no five years, okay five years, to when things were still good he wouldn’t let things unravel, he wouldn’t. He’d go to counseling, go on date nights, go on more trips, have more sex, read more books, go to more fuckin’ period movies, do whatever he had to do to keep his head in the marriage. If he could do it again, he’d stay away from Karen Daily, know that she was his Kryptonite, that she could bring him down. He couldn’t see it then, but he’d fucked up like a lot of married men do, had fallen for the hot divorced chick next door. He was weak, okay? Shoot him. But next time he’d see it coming, when that train came barreling down the tracks right toward him, he wouldn’t just stand there like an idiot with a big dumb smile on his face and let it run him over. He’d jump off the track way before the train ever got there.
Riley was right about Karen. She’d been trying to suck Mark in for years and maybe she panicked after the Lerners’ party, after Mark had held her hand and let go too soon, and she was afraid she wouldn’t get what she wanted, that he’d never leave Deb, so she did it herself, met Deb somewhere and killed her. Yes, killed her, Mark wasn’t in denial anymore; he was ready to accept the truth. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. That was why Karen had made out like she was upset that Mark had held her hand, because she was trying to twist everything around, make out like she was the victim. Trying to make Mark believe that he was imagining their connection—yeah, right. She was in love with him; she was probably obsessed. That was why she had been texting with him all the time since her marriage ended, and why she was dating all those guys—to make Mark jealous. It was so obvious to Mark now, how twisted Karen was. During her divorce Karen used to complain to Mark about how her ex Joe’s lawyers had accused Karen of being “unstable.” See? It all made sense now, every piece to the puzzle fit. Mark had taken Karen’s side, been her “shoulder to lean on,” because he was getting sucked in, because he was in a bad marriage, but now the Kool-Aid drinking was over, and he understood what had been going on, he finally got it: Karen was an obsessed psycho who’d sucked him in to her sticky web and killed his wife. He didn’t know how he’d ever forgive himself.
When Justin knocked on the bathroom door, asking Mark if he was okay, he said, “Yes, fine, I’m just going to the bathroom.”
“You’ve been in there a long time.” Justin sounded upset.
“Give Daddy some privacy, okay, Justin?”
“I’m scared.”
Now Justin was crying. Shit, Mark wanted to be strong for his son, but he looked like a mess himself. He rinsed his face with cold water, toweled dry, then left the bathroom. Justin was standing there, crying, shaking. He wasn’t a tall kid, he was one of the shortest kids in class; he looked particularly small right now.
Mark picked him up, holding him, unable to hold back tears himself, and said, “I’m scared too, kiddo. We’re all scared.”
Remembering saying, Do I know you? to Deb, Mark sobbed harder. But then he fought harder to stop crying, to be strong for his son.
“Is Mommy coming home?” Justin asked.
Mark didn’t want to lie. He was done with lying, with game playing. It was time to grow up, be a fucking man.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I hope so.”
Crying, Justin said, “I want Mommy back, I just want Mommy back.”
“We all want her back,” Mark said, proud that he was no longer crying. “You’re going to be a man soon. Men have to be strong.”
Then Mark was suddenly aware of the warm dampness on Justin’s backside and realized he’d wet his pants again. He wasn’t angry, though. He just wanted to take care of his son, make him feel better.
�
�Let’s go upstairs and get you out of these clothes, okay?” Mark said.
Justin was light enough for Mark to pick up, but too heavy to carry up the stairs. So he put him down and walked his son up to his room, holding his hand. Mark noticed the door to Riley’s room was shut. He knew that regaining his daughter’s trust would be a much bigger challenge.
He laid out some new clothes for Justin and then got a call from a number he didn’t recognize.
“Mark?”
It was a guy, voice was kind of familiar. He sounded rushed, frantic.
“Yeah.”
“Larry Walsh, Bedford Police.”
“Did you find Deb?” Mark asked with no hope. He was ready for the worst, to hear that she’d been raped and her naked, mangled body had been found.
Riley came into Justin’s room, asking, “Did they find her? What’s going on?”
“No.” Walsh still sounded harried, out of breath. “Do you know if Karen’s home now?”
“I’m not sure… I think so. Why?”
“She could be in danger.”
“What? Why?”
“Does she have a landline?”
“Yes, but—”
“Just give me the number.”
Mark gave it to him, said, “What the hell is going on?”
“I believe your wife was having a relationship with a guy named Owen Harrison and that Owen could be at Karen’s house now.”
“Owen who?” Mark asked.
“Who’re you talking to?” Riley asked.
“Owen Harrison,” Walsh said. “He’s eighteen years old, and he could be dangerous. If Karen contacts you tell her to lock herself in a room and that help is on the way.”
“I don’t understand,” Mark said. “What does this have to do with my wife? And what do you mean, relationship?”
Walsh had ended the call.
“Jesus Christ.” Mark cocked his arm, ready to toss the phone against the wall, but stopped himself.
“What’s going on?” Riley asked.
“Nothing,” Mark said. “Just a weird call from the police.”
“Weird how?”
“It’s okay, I’ll handle it,” Mark said.
Riley glared at him, then went into her room and slammed the door.
Mark was angry and confused. Karen could be in danger and Deb and an eighteen-year-old were having a relationship? This didn’t make any sense at all. There was no way some guy, especially an eighteen-year-old, would have any interest in Deb and it was even more ridiculous that Deb would be able to keep something like that a secret. After all, Mark wasn’t one of those guys who’s so lost in his own world that he can’t see what’s going on right in front of him. He was sharp, he was tuned in. If his wife were cheating on him he’d sure as hell know about it. Why were the police wasting time with their ridiculous theories when they should be investigating Karen?
He went down to his office and went online, searching for PIs. Fuck the police, Mark was going to solve this case on his own. He was sick of sitting back, being the victim, waiting for things to happen. It was time for Mark Berman to take charge.
“Dad, I need to talk to you.” Riley had an angry, bitchy tone.
“Look, we need to stop this right now,” Mark said, feeling good taking charge. “Listen to me, actually listen. I was not, was not having an affair with Karen. We were good friends, that’s it. Were, past tense.”
“Whatever,” Riley said. “I just got a weird text from Elana that her boyfriend’s there saying he’s going to kill her and Matthew and her mom. She sounded really scared.”
“Elana’s boyfriend?” Mark was trying to process this. “Who’s Elana’s boyfriend?”
“His name’s Owen, and he’s really weird, and Elana sounded serious.”
“Owen Harrison?” Mark asked.
What the fuck?
“Yes,” Riley said.
“Who’s Owen Harrison?”
“He used to go to my school. He works at the country club.”
Wait, Mark thought he knew Owen, the tall, doofy kid who did landscaping?
“Why is he threatening the Dailys?” Mark asked.
“She didn’t say. Dad, I’m really scared.”
An idea was coming to Mark.
“You sure he’s Elana’s boyfriend, not Karen’s?”
“What?” Riley asked.
Yeah, okay, this made sense. The police had it wrong, of course they did, because they’ve had it wrong all along. Karen was having an affair with Owen, not Deb. After all, Karen was sleeping around, on all those dating sites, and everybody knew it, everybody talked about it, so why not an eighteen-year-old? Maybe she was experimenting, just wanted to see what it was like with a younger guy. Yes, yes, that’s what was happening. But how did Deb figure into it? Mark’s mind was racing now, dozens of ideas hitting him at once. The one he liked most was that Karen and Owen wanted money to run away, or buy something, so they figured they’d kidnap Deb and hold her hostage for ransom. Maybe they were holding Deb someplace, maybe even in Karen’s house. It was Deb who was in danger, not Karen. Yes, yes, Mark was convinced this was all happening, that he’d solved the mystery.
“Wait here,” he said, heading toward the front door.
“Where are you going?” Riley asked.
“To bring your mother home.”
“What? Shouldn’t you call the police?”
Mark left the house and he headed toward Karen’s. He wanted a do-over, like Jimmy Stewart. He wanted to go back in the past to four years ago, or to whatever the point was when he felt unhappy in his marriage. There had to be a first time that he’d first thought, I want out, when he’d stopped focusing on Deb, and started fantasizing about Karen and he wanted to go back, make a better decision, tell himself to stop fantasizing. He’d tell himself, You think you can handle it but you can’t. Fantasies seem great, but they’re just gateway drugs. You need more and more and then, when reality kicks in, you’re totally fucked.
Mark rang Karen’s doorbell, remembering meeting Deb at the bar on the Upper West Side twenty-two years ago. That night he’d thought she was the most amazing woman in the world. For years he’d forgotten this feeling; it had been buried somewhere, under all the fantasies, all the bullshit, but now it was out, now he remembered. This was his chance to get his life back, and he wasn’t going to blow it.
He kept ringing, but she wasn’t coming to the door. Shit, what if time was running out?
He went around to the garage. She left a key under the mat there. Mark had warned her not to do it, that it was a security risk, but obviously Karen didn’t give a shit about what he, or anybody else, thought. She was only thinking about herself.
He went in to the storage area, heard voices coming from upstairs in the kitchen. A boy, probably this Owen asshole, was yelling. Mark didn’t want to go empty-handed. He needed something, a weapon. From a basket of sports stuff, he grabbed an aluminum baseball bat and crept up the stairs.
“LEAVE? WHAT’RE you talking about?”
Karen didn’t get why Owen seemed so upset. Then, remembering what he’d said about his stepfather, she thought, Could it be that?
“We’ll take your car,” Owen said. “Is there gas in your car?”
“Did you call home?” Karen asked.
“What?” Owen asked.
“Did something happen at home? Is your brother okay?”
“It has nothing to do with my brother, but you’re right, we’ll have to come back to get him, or send him money to come to us. You don’t have time to get dressed. Just bring your pocketbook, your credit cards. You’ll take a coat downstairs, buy clothes in Canada.”
“Canada? What?”
“That’s where we’re going.”
“Owen, you have to stop this, you’re not making any sense.”
He grabbed her hand, like he had before. He was squeezing so hard it hurt.
Then her phone chimed. Owen rushed to it, on the bed, and shut it off.
“We don’t have time to bullshit around,” Owen said. “Your ex-husband’s gonna have to take care of Elana and Matthew for a while.”
He was trying to pull her out of the bedroom. What was happening?
“Let go,” she said. “Stop it!”
She managed to free herself, but he grabbed her by the shoulders, pushed her back up against the wall, and said, “Shut up and listen to me, you stupid bitch!”
The rage in his eyes was terrifying. She was normally so intuitive, was able to read people so well. How had she missed this?
“Sorry.” He let go, trying to cover with a smile, but it was too late. “I… I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just we have to get out of here, fast, and I can’t explain everything now. But I will when we get there, I promise, okay?”
Doing her best to stay calm, and to calm him, Karen said, “I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s going to be okay, you’re going to be okay.”
But he went into a rage again, grabbing her again, this time closer to her neck, and screamed, “Nothing’s okay! You’re driving me out of here, you don’t have a fucking choice!”
In her peripheral vision, Karen saw that Elana and Matthew had just entered the room, appearing shocked.
“Owen?” Elana said. “What’re you doing?”
“Let go of my mother,” Matthew said protectively.
“Call for help!” Karen shouted. “Run!”
Elana grabbed Matthew and they ran out of the room.
“Shit!” Owen shouted and chased after them.
Karen followed, dashing out of the bedroom, hearing the bathroom door slam. Then in the hallway she saw Owen banging on the door, cursing—good, Elana and Matthew had locked themselves inside. She headed downstairs, stumbled to her knees, got up, and continued down. She wanted to call the police, then remembered the reporters right outside, but it was too late. She was on her way toward the front door when Owen grabbed her from behind, a hand over her mouth, muffling her scream. He dragged her back into the kitchen and when she was finally able to free herself enough to call out for help she saw that he was holding a knife, one of her knives, the big one she used to chop steak.