You Will Never Know

by You Will Never Know (retail) (epub)

  The icy schoolteacher glare came right at him again, and Ted swallowed, told himself to calm the fuck down. But the truth was, it was hard to calm down, even if he had been in jail for not even two full days. But it had been a long two days, being in prison, even though technically it wasn’t a prison. It was the Middlesex County House of Correction, and like everyone else behind bars here, Ted wore orange pants and an orange T-shirt that had middlesex hoc inmate stenciled on the front.

  But his short time here, with the constant noise, the awful food—cold and greasy—and sharing a cell with a young man with lots of tattoos and attitude, who seemed to take great pleasure in sitting on the open metal toilet at night and scratching his exposed crotch while shitting loudly—this short time was enough to make him want to sob with fear and disgust at how he had gotten here.

  Helen was still staring. The only woman who was working on his behalf.

  “That was stupid of me to say,” he said. “I’m sorry, Helen. I just can’t believe that Paula wouldn’t back me up.”

  “Where were you that night?”

  “Working late, in our office.”

  “Was anybody else there?”

  “No,” Ted said. “It was just the two of us.”

  “And what happened?”

  “We had sandwiches, a couple of beers, and—”

  Helen shook her head. “What then?”

  “Ah . . .”

  She said, “Ted, please don’t screw with me. I’m doing my best to get you out of here, and I need to know the truth. Did you and this Paula Fawkes have sexual relations?”

  Ashamed, face warm, Ted just nodded.

  “In the office?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what time did you get home to your wife?”

  “Sometime after eleven P.M.”

  “And what did you tell Jessica?”

  “I . . . I, ah, told her I had been out with my business partner. Ben Powell.”

  “So you lied.”

  “Yes.”

  “And when Detective Rafferty came to interview you and Jessica, you told him that you were home that evening.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t tell him that you were out with Ben Powell.”

  “No.”

  “And you didn’t tell him you were out with Paula Fawkes.”

  “No.”

  Even in the small room, Ted could hear loud voices outside, the clanging of barred doors being closed, a TV somewhere playing a Spanish-language channel. At this moment he would do or promise anything to get up and walk out with Helen Wray.

  Helen said, “So, just to recap, as to your whereabouts the night police believe Sam Warner was murdered, you lied to your wife and lied to the police.”

  What else could he say? “Yes, that’s right.”

  Helen pursed her lips. “Well, I hate to be the bearer of even worse news, but I’ve found out that your wife isn’t going to cover for you either.”

  It was like the solid concrete and steel floor below was vibrating at some high frequency or speed, because he was having trouble hearing and now found it hard to find the right words. His mouth seized up. He had to chew his tongue.

  “What, Jessica won’t back me up?”

  “That’s right,” she said. “I had a quick but fruitful discussion with Detective Rafferty. He had a one-on-one with your wife two days ago. Did you know that?”

  He couldn’t think. All he could do was automatically respond. “No, Helen, I did not know that.”

  “Well, as part of his interview, he asked Jessica to confirm your original statement, that you were home with her, watching some Real Housewives show on Bravo. She said she didn’t know where you were but you weren’t at home.”

  Oh, Jesus, he thought. Oh, Jesus.

  “I . . . shit, well, why won’t Paula Fawkes back me up then?

  Helen quickly and crisply replied, “She says you weren’t with her that night. In fact, more than that, Ted, she denies that the two of you ever had a relationship.”

  Ted felt the shame and humiliation of being dumped by a woman, even if it was one he had been having an affair with.

  “But that’s not true.”

  “Anyone ever see the two of you together? You have motel or hotel receipts that put you in the same place at the same time? Any surveillance video of you going down on her in some public venue?”

  “No, but . . .”

  Helen cocked her head. “Ted, are you really that dense? Really?”

  “Huh?”

  “Remind me again what Paula’s husband does. And where he currently is.”

  Again the flush of shame. Now it came to him. How could he have been so stupid?

  “Her husband’s name is Antonio,” Ted admitted. “He’s a captain in the army.”

  Helen shook her head. “No, he’s much more than that,” she said. “He’s a captain in special forces. Sometimes called the Green Berets. In other words, a stone-cold killer working on the behalf of the United States. How do you think he’d react if he came home and found out that his wife had been stepping out while he was risking his ass for hearth and home?”

  “Not good,” he said.

  “Yeah, fine understatement there, Ted. Sorry to say, she’s just looking out for herself. That’s all. But any hopes of getting your butt out of here due to Paula’s coming forth and providing an alibi is gone. And I know Jessica has told the Warner police that she can’t provide an alibi either.”

  The orange shirt and pants he was wearing felt like they were something tattooed to his skin, something that would never, ever be removed.

  “What now?”

  He felt something cold start to grow in his gullet as he watched Helen gather up her notebook and pen, open up her leather shoulder bag. “I was hoping to get enough evidence right now to get this tossed before arraignment, but that’s not going to happen.”

  His mouth had never been so dry. “Are you giving up?”

  “God, no, of course not,” she said. “It just means it’s going to take longer than either of us want. The next thing will be an arraignment before a judge, where the charges will officially be read out to you. After that, a bail hearing. If we’re very, very lucky, you might—and I emphasize the word ‘might’—get out for a huge chunk of change and an ankle bracelet. But don’t hold your breath.”

  Helen got up, and from the deep recesses of his mind Ted remembered some family event, when he had been very young, not even in school yet, and had seen his mother leaving without him, and he remembered his screams: Mama, don’t leave! Mama, don’t leave!

  “And then?”

  “Then we wait for a grand jury to indict you, and we prepare for trial.”

  She went up to the heavy metal door, knocked on it, and said, “Ready to leave,” and per instructions, Ted remained seated. But as the door was unlocked, he said, “Helen, why haven’t you asked me if I did it or not?”

  Helen said, “Because right now it makes no difference to me.”

  The door was unlocked and she brushed past the uniformed Middlesex County jail officer. With Helen gone, the guard motioned, and Ted got up. A few minutes later—damn it, why hadn’t he asked her about the retainer and why it had to be so big?—he was back in the general population and saw his cellmate standing with a group of his friends, laughing and talking in Spanish. His cellmate caught Ted’s eye, gestured to his friends and to Ted, grabbed his crotch, and flicked his tongue at Ted. Everyone over there laughed at him.

  Ted just walked away and kept on walking around and around the fixed seats and chairs, thinking of that shitty high school wrestling captain who had put him here.

  Emma was in her friend Kate’s bedroom on Monday afternoon, both of them on her bed watching The Big Sick on the TV, texting each other and their respective friends. They should have been clipping printed-out photos of Kate’s grandfather for a school report, but Emma felt like just hanging and relaxing. Kate’s mom had made them an afternoon snack of choco
late chip cookies, and Emma felt a bit heavy and bloated.

  But she still felt comfortable. She wasn’t sure if it was a sugar high or something like that. It was a nice treat, but she couldn’t do it again for a while. Too much extra weight to carry out onto the track, which is why her friend always came in second to Emma at meets. Emma felt like telling Kate that if she’d just cut back on some of her desserts—and treats like homemade chocolate chip cookies—she might be able to cut a few seconds off her pace.

  Kate said, “I think I got all the photos I need.”

  “Huh?” Emma said, not looking up from her iPhone.

  “The photos of my granddad. The one who served in the navy. Our school report, remember?”

  Emma nudged her friend in the side and said, “Yeah, I remember. And I remember you saying you’d help me with the words. And you haven’t written a single one.”

  “Not true,” Kate said. “I wrote Granddad’s name and the name of his ship. The Enterprise. That’s three words right there.”

  Then Kate’s mom yelled up at them from downstairs. “Hey, you girls still up there?”

  Kate leaned over her bed. “No, Ma, we ran away an hour ago to join the circus!”

  Emma snickered, and Mrs. Romer said, “Ha, very funny, cupcake. Emma, your mom’s here to see you!”

  Kate turned to her. “You want me to come down with you?”

  Emma swung off the bed, slipped her iPhone into her pocket. “Nah, it won’t take long.”

  Jessica was pleased to see that Doris Romer was giving her and Emma some space in their deserted sunroom, just off the kitchen. She gave her girl a quick hug and kiss and said, “How are you doing, hon?”

  Emma shrugged. “Okay, I guess. What’s up?”

  “I’m going to Billerica. To see your stepfather. Do you want to come along?”

  It looked like Emma had just eaten something that was threatening to crawl up out of her gullet. “Do I have to?”

  Jessica said. “Well, I just wanted to see if you wanted to join me.”

  Emma quickly shook her head. “I’m working on a school project with Kate. We’re right in the middle of it and we don’t have much more time to finish it.”

  “It’s all right, I understand.”

  Jessica stepped forward, gave Emma another, longer hug, burying her face in her girl’s pure blond hair. She kissed the top of her head and stepped away, tears suddenly forming in her eyes. “You want to come home tonight?”

  Emma shook her head once again. “No, Mom,” she said. “If it’s okay with you, I’d rather stay here one more night, get the project done. Mrs. Romer will take us to school tomorrow. Besides, I’m scared to see those reporters again.”

  “They’re gone, hon.”

  “But they might come back. Right?”

  Jessica didn’t feel like dragging this out. She had called her stepson earlier and he had given her a similar brisk, cold message, and she just wanted to get this day over.

  “They might,” she said. “Okay, you behave now, okay?”

  Emma smiled and said, “I’ll do my best, Mom.”

  She went out through the kitchen and Mrs. Romer came back again, her face lined with concern, and took Jessica’s hands in hers. They were cold and chapped.

  “Oh, Jessica, we’re praying for you so much.”

  She could only nod her thanks.

  Back upstairs, Emma jumped onto Kate’s bed again and tried to steal her iPhone away from her, and Kate both laughed and shrieked as she backed away to the near wall.

  “Knock it off!” Kate said, and Emma laughed again, dug out her own iPhone, and started looking to see what messages she might have missed while talking to Mom.

  Emma sat up against the pillow and Kate said, “Everything okay?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s up with your mom?”

  “She’s off to visit my stepdad in jail. Ugh.”

  “Ugh,” Kate said. “You still okay?”

  “Yep.” Remembering something important, Emma said, “Ask you something?”

  “Sure,” her friend said.

  “What do you think about Craig?”

  “Your stepbro? Ick. No offense, I think he’s a slug. A hairy slug.”

  Emma shrugged. “That’s a good one.”

  Kate said, “Hey, you want to start working on that project now?”

  Emma held her phone in her hands. Eight messages to reply to . . .

  “Nah,” she said. “What’s the rush?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jessica Thornton was surprised to find out that her visit with Ted was taking place in a more public setting. Instead of the thick glass windows, metal, phone receivers with thick cords, and signs that said all conversations subject to recording, they were in something called a public tier. This meant that Ted and the other inmates—she still couldn’t get her head around using “Ted” and “inmate” in the same sentence—were seated on heavy plastic seats bolted to the concrete floor, in front of heavy plastic oval tables, also bolted down, with their visitors sitting across from them.

  If her earlier visit to Ted had been surreal, this one was out deep in the twilight zone. Before her and to the left and to the right were about a dozen other inmates. Ted was the oldest and, as far as she could tell, the only Caucasian. On her side, again, Jessica was the oldest, and except for one woman at the far end, every other woman had a child or children with her. There was a heavy smell of sweat and disinfectant.

  The kids did their best with dolls or other toys in their hands, but their wide eyes and questioning faces told the heartbreaking story of why they were in front of Daddy, unable to touch him or get a hug.

  Jessica couldn’t look at the kids and found it hard to look at her husband. The orange T-shirt and pants were worn and baggy, and Ted’s skin had faded in color, as if he had been underground in a cave for a month. His face sagged more than usual, and his eyes flickered with fear as he looked around him.

  “I’m in trouble,” he said.

  No shit, Sherlock, she thought. “I know, Ted.”

  “It’s because I don’t have an alibi for the night that kid got killed.”

  Jessica just looked away from him, up at the upper levels, where uniformed guards looked down.

  “Why are we here?” Jessica asked. “The last visit we had to talk with phones, behind the glass.”

  His arms were stretched out in front of him. His hands were quivering. Ted saw that she was looking at them and quickly clasped them together.

  “Jessica, I don’t know. Something was wrong with the phone system—it wasn’t working right, so we got dumped here. Which is good, because we’ve got things to talk about and this is a great opportunity. Jessica, I was counting on your alibi to help me—at least to raise questions in the judge’s mind so I could get out on bail. But Helen Wray tells me that you’re not going to stick up for me. In fact, she said that you later told Detective Rafferty that I lied about being home. Jess, how could you do that to me?”

  Even in their roughest times, Jessica had always thought Ted was an attractive and rugged man, but now he was looking and sounding like a disappointed child.

  “It was easy,” she said. “Because it was the truth.”

  “Jess!”

  She slightly shook her head. “Ted, that night—where were you?”

  His eyes flicked back and forth again. “You know what I told you.”

  “That’s what you said, but where were you, Ted? More to the point, who were you with?”

  Jessica imagined that at this point Ted’s face would turn a ruddy color from the shame and embarrassment, but, no, it retained the same pale look.

  Like her dad, that frosty day in the backyard.

  “I was out with Paula Fawkes.”

  There. The stab to the gut that she knew was always going to strike her, the only question being when and where. Over the past few days there had been thoughts and suggestions of confronting him after dinner, or in the bedroom
, or in the kitchen before the two of them went off to work. The thoughts had even gone as far to imagine the raised voices, the shouting, the screaming.

  But never had she imagined that she would be so calm. Or that the confrontation would be held here, at a visiting area within the Middlesex County House of Correction.

  “Did you fuck her before you got home?” she asked.

  He held a hand up to his eyes, as if some bright overhead light had suddenly switched on.

  “Jessica, please.”

  “Come on, Ted. Man up. Did you fuck her before you came home?”

  Almost a whisper: “Yes.”

  “Okay, then,” she said. “Now we’re at the truth. That means I can’t and won’t lie for you, Ted. Do you understand?”

  The barest of nods.

  “Helen has made it quite clear that she’s defending you. She’s not defending me or our family. Just you. So if you need help with your alibi, go to your girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  A flare of anger unexpectedly roared through her. She leaned toward him and said, “Then your fuck buddy, or work whore, or whatever she is to you. Have her speak up for you.”

  “She won’t,” he said, speaking slowly, each syllable dragging through the shame. “She’s told Helen that the two of us weren’t . . . weren’t even a couple.”

  Two words came to her, even though it made her slightly ill: poor Ted.

  “Now I see what you meant,” Jessica said, “when you said earlier that you’re in trouble. You had two chances for an alibi the night Sam Warner was murdered and both of them don’t exist.”

  Down the row of women and children, an infant in a bright pink onesie with a bow clipped to her fine hair started bawling, and her mother, also paying attention to two older girls, did her best to calm her down, jiggling the infant up and down on a thick leg. Her male companion held out two thickly tattooed arms and tried singing a lullaby in Spanish. A woman guard started over to their table.

  Ted loudly exhaled. “That’s why I’ve been thinking about telling Helen about the kids. What they were doing that night.”

  Where the hell did that come from? Jessica felt that if she had a knife in her hand right now, she would plunge it into Ted’s chest.