by J. S Ellis
‘Mom...’
‘Sophie...’
I inherited my mother’s looks and wide face, her hair is slightly lighter than mine. We have the same eyes, but she’s slightly shorter than I am.
‘I’ll let you two talk,’ Richard said, and left.
Despite the puffy eyes and sallow skin, she was dressed impeccably in a black blouse and navy blue pencil skirt. I wished I could see her in much happier times. I could barely look at her in the eye.
‘Would you like some tea?’ I asked.
‘Tea would be nice,’ she said.
I put the kettle on and took out two mugs from the cupboards. I didn’t know where to start.
‘What you did, it’s...’ Mum trailed off.
‘I didn’t know it would...’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You didn’t know what? That it would hurt us? It didn’t occur to you how this would make me feel, seeing my daughter, my only child, in that fashion! Didn't you think about how it would make me feel? How your father must have felt! I didn’t get out of the bed for days!’
Did I think about how my parents would feel? Yes, I did, but I didn’t know they would find out like this either. My mum took out a tissue from her bag and blew her nose. The kettle boiled, and I made tea for both of us.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘This is not how I raised my child, to jump in bed with another man when the going gets tough. To see you in those photos. What were you thinking?’
I sat on the chair, ignited a cigarette avoiding eye contact ‘I was... lonely.’
Her eyes grew so wide, like they were going to pop out of their sockets, ‘You and Richard have been having problems for years. You were more than happy to ignore them, both of you. It’s because of the miscarriages.’
‘Mom please!’
‘It’s good to talk sometimes.’
‘What do you want me to say? I got pregnant twice, but I didn’t become a mother.’
‘So you went off and had an affair?’
‘No, I didn’t plan to have an affair,’ I said as tears fell down my cheeks.
‘Did you send those photos?’ Mum asked.
‘No! I didn’t know they existed,’ I replied, mashing the cigarette on the ashtray and kindled another.
Mum scowled at me. ‘So he sent them?’
‘That’s what I suspect.’
‘And what legal action are you going to take?’
‘Richard is taking care of it.’
‘Is he now?’
‘Mom, please stop blaming Richard, it’s not his fault, it’s mine, okay.’
‘I would like to say he’s not to blame, but he should have taken you more seriously, instead of keeping up appearances. He’s such a phony.’
Mum took a sip of her tea. “Richard wants me out by the end of the week.’
‘So he’s kicking you out like an old dog,’ Mum said.
‘Can you blame him?’
A pause. ‘No.’
‘Where you’re going to live?’
‘I’ll find a place. I have money.’
She didn’t offer me to stay with her. The only place I want to be right now is at my parents, in my old bedroom with its single bed, the stuffed toys, and the dollhouse. Although she didn’t say to me up front, I sensed she was telling me you’re on your own.
23rd July
Evening,
Diary,
Sylvie told me I could stay with her until I figure out my next move. She also told me we could talk about the affair. To be honest, I don’t want to go through trivial details of my relationship with Michael with her. I want to forget it ever happened.
Along with the assault, I want to erase it all from my mind.
I haven’t seen Sam snooping around my neighborhood recently. It seems only Evelyne and Andy are living in the apartment now. Richard still looks green and ill but doesn’t want to do anything about it.
‘I don’t care anymore. I'm sickened by what you did, and you’re killing me slowly,’ he said.
I didn’t press the subject anymore. What can I say after my husband tells me something like that? The truth of the matter is, I am killing him slowly, and it tears me apart. Richard isn’t home a lot, he leaves early and comes back home late. The apartment has become an empty hotel. Richard and I are two strangers that pass by without acknowledging one another. The ghost apartment. Everything is cold and white.
I’m waiting for him to say... I want a divorce.
25th July
Evening,
Diary,
I don’t know where to start. Today was a nightmare come to life. It was past noon, and Richard still wasn’t up. It was unlike him to stay in bed so late. I thought it was odd, but I spent a bit of time cleaning up the kitchen, it was the least I could do. I looked at our wedding photo in the living room. In October, it would have been our twelfth wedding anniversary, but there won’t be any celebrations this year. I carried the photo with me to the guest bedroom and packed it along with my belongings. My life packed in an oversized handbag. It’s amazing how many things I need, but I don’t use everything I own. I scanned the apartment taking in all the memories.
There was nothing left to do but to inform Richard. I didn’t think he’d mind if I went without telling him, but it seemed the decent thing to do.
I knocked on his door.
No response.
I knocked again.
Nothing.
I entered the darkened room and saw Richard laying there. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and a cold sweat swept over me.
‘Richard?’
Silence answered me back. I opened the curtains and turned around.
‘Richard, I don’t mean to disturb you, but- ’
I froze, Richard was lying on the bed, motionless. His chest wasn’t rising and falling, and there was a curious stiffness about how his shoulders rested on the pillow.
‘Richard?’ the sound of my own voice made me shiver.
I gasped. The color had gone from his face, and his lifeless eyes stared back at me. It was as if he could see me, but couldn’t blink. I touched his hand, it was stone cold. There was a brownish liquid on the pillow.
Richard is dead! Everything rushed through my mind at once. What did he die of? How long has he been gone? Did he call out, but I didn’t hear him? Question after question.
There was an empty glass of water on the bedside table. I remained bewildered, incapable of grasping the suddenness of his death. He died all alone. It felt like the world had stopped. Like nothing was real, but I knew I couldn’t just stay there. I had to do something. I went over to the door and took another look at him. His eyes seemed to stare back at me. And then all the emotions, anxiety, and fear took possession of me. I somehow managed to call his GP. I don’t know how, because I could barely grip the phone, I was shaking that much. As the doctor’s receptionist answered, I heard myself scream.
‘My husband is dead!’
Dr. Frank Williams is in his fifties and a good friend of Richard. He greeted me with a hug, and I rested my head on his shoulders and cried.
‘Did you inform your family or friends to be with you?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘I suggest you do it, where is he?’
‘In the master bedroom.’
Without saying a word, he marched through the bedroom. I sat on the sofa and smoked and wept.
I can’t get the image of Richard out of my head. I’ve killed him. I caused this, his heart was too weak to handle such stress. He died of a broken heart. I could feel my heart beating in my breast like a metronome. Frank hurried out of the bedroom, without saying a word, and grabbed the phone.
I stood up. ‘Is something wrong?’
I stared at him teary-eyed.
‘Yes, I need someone to come here right away,’ he said into the receiver.
‘Sophie, you should sit down,’ he instructed after he hung up.
‘What’s wrong?’
I covered my mouth
with my hands to prevent myself from screaming. Was Richard still alive? For a moment, there was a surge of relief, my husband was going to be alright.
‘I should inform you, I’m not certain about the cause of death, but it’s not a heart attack, there’s vomit on the sheets.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘And that means I can’t issue a death certificate. It’s out of my hands. The police are on their way.’
It’s like I’m living in a bad dream and can’t wake up. The ambulance arrived, followed by the police. Frank answered a few questions and left. Another well-dressed police officer entered the scene. He introduced himself as detective Thomas Blake. I’m under so much stress. I can’t believe Richard is dead. Detective Blake wanted me to go down to the station. I don’t understand. If Richard didn’t die of a heart attack, what caused his death? Why was vomit on the sheets?
At the police station, a female officer came into the questioning room and placed a mug of coffee in front of me. She looked more like a model than a police officer. Blake introduced her as his partner, Miranda Gibbins. I asked if I could smoke, Blake nodded.
‘Mrs. Knight, you’re the one who found your husband?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I thought it was odd he slept so late. I went to check up on him and...’ I replied, twisting the tissue in my hand.
‘What did you do after that?’
‘Richard had problems with his heart. He was a sick man, so I called his GP right away.’
‘Were there any signs of his sickness, recently?’
‘Yes, coughing, loss of appetite, and his skin became sallow.’
‘You were in the apartment all day, today?’
‘Yes.’
‘And last night, did you stay in?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you remember what time it was when you last saw your husband alive?’
‘Around... eleven thirty, he left the study and went to bed.’
‘Did anything seem odd to you about your husband?’
‘As I said he was not feeling well lately, he seemed rather confused and sleepy.’
‘Since you were aware of his sickness, why you didn’t call a doctor?’ he asked.
‘He got angry with me when I brought up the subject,’ I said, wiping the tears from my eyes with the tissue.
‘And you never called him a doctor despite his refusal?’ Miranda asked gently.
‘No.’
‘You didn’t hear or see anything suspicious or out of the ordinary?’
‘No...’
‘Your husband was on medication, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, he took pills for his heart,’ I said.
‘How long you’ve been married?’
‘Eleven years.’
‘Can you think of anyone who might want to harm your husband?’
I shook my head. ‘No.’
‘Mrs. Knight, there’s a bag in the guest bedroom. It has your belongings in it, were you planning to go somewhere?’
I didn’t know how to explain it without sounding suspicious.
‘I was going to stay with a friend.’
‘You and Mr. Knight were having problems?’ Miranda asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ she said.
There was something in Blake’s expression I didn’t like. ‘And what are the problems you were having?’
I had no choice but to tell them the truth.
‘I was having an affair, and Richard found out.’
Miranda raised her eyebrows at me. ‘And the name of your lover?’
‘Michael Frisk.’
‘Frisk, it’s not English surname,’ Blake said.
‘No, he’s Swedish,’ I replied.
‘How long were you having this affair?’ she asked.
‘Five months.’
‘It’s been bought to my attention that your husband inherited a large sum of money last year after his mother died, right?’ Blake said.
‘Yes, he came from a wealthy family,’ I said.
How did they find this out so quickly? And why this was even relevant?
‘Was he insured?’ Miranda asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Who is the beneficiary?’
‘I am.’
‘Sole beneficiary?’ Blake asked.
They think I killed my husband for money, so I could access all of his money and run off with my lover. My body trembled as my world was falling apart. With a shaking hand, I picked up another cigarette. Miranda fired it up for me.
‘Are you suggesting I killed my husband?’ I asked, ‘how dare you!’ I said in outrage, ‘I want a lawyer!’
‘We’re trying to help you,’ Blake said.
‘Am I free to go?’
‘Yes.’
I was let go after that. The apartment is a crime scene so I can’t go back there. I called Sylvie and she came to pick me up. I dissolved into tears. She wrapped her arms around me and consoled me, telling me everything was going to be okay. I keep thinking Blake will come back any minute with a warrant of my arrest.
27th July,
Afternoon,
Diary,
I sat in Sylvie’s living room with my parents. Sylvie brought a tray with tea and placed it on the coffee table. She took a seat beside me and took my hand.
‘The police think he was murdered. How is it even possible?’ my mom asked.
‘That’s what they lead me to believe,’ I replied.
‘I can’t believe it, who could have done this?’ Mum helped herself to a cup of tea.
‘I don’t know, Mum, but the police think it’s me,’ I said.
‘Oh dear god!’ mum blurted.
‘Have you hired a solicitor yet?’ Dad asked.
‘I’m looking for one, do you know of anyone?’
Mum and Dad looked at each other. ‘Yes, I do.’ Dad replied. He took his mobile from his pocket. ‘Don’t talk to the police. Whatever you say they can hold it as evidence.’
The lawyer arrived shortly after. His name was Jonathan Hayes.
‘Whatever you do,’ he said, ‘don’t speak to the police without me present. You have the right remain silent and don’t nod or shake your head. No signs of body language.’
I went to the police station for more questioning. This time accompanied by Jonathan but it didn’t reassure me. The police, or at least the detective, think I did it.
The same questions seemed to go over and over. Asking me to repeat stories about Richard and Michael. It feels obscene.
Michael must have been interviewed by Blake and told him about my drinking, which made me look even worse. Mike, you and your big mouth, you won’t stop until you see me rot.
‘Mrs. Knight, we got the results from the autopsy. Your husband didn’t die of natural causes, he died of sodium hypochlorite poisoning. Your husband was murdered,’ Blake said.
I buried my face in my hands while Jonathan looked at the report. Miranda kept looking at me. Observing. Studying me.
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘Your husband was poisoned,’ Miranda said.
Sodium hypochlorite. The room spun, how on earth could Richard have been murdered.
‘It’s not possible,’ I said, with tears spilling down my eyes.
I suddenly felt his eyes studying mine for signs. They thought I did it! Me, the prime suspect in a murder investigation.
It’s natural they think I did it, the wife or the husband is always the prime suspect. I began to sweat. I glanced at Jonathan, and he gave me a subtle nod.
‘I was receiving notes.’
Miranda leaned forward. ‘What kind of notes?’
‘I called the police, and they came out to visit me, but the police officer didn’t make a statement. They thought the notes were a prank. We also got mysterious phone calls. The silent type.’
‘Were the notes targeted to you and your husband?’
‘To me.’
‘Have you kept them?’
‘I ke
pt two of them.’
Blake looked at Miranda with some kind of mutual understanding between them. She nodded and left the room.
‘Was your husband aware of your drinking?’ Blake asked.
‘He made remarks.’
‘And your lover knew?’
‘Knew what?’
‘About your drinking?’
‘Yes.’
‘And not so long ago you had a quarrel with Michael about photographs you had sent yourself?’
‘I suggest you withdraw. No evidence indicates my client had the photographs,’ Jonathan said, ‘Mr. Knight was working with his lawyers, you can contact them.’
‘We are working on that but there is no evidence Michael sent the photos, and hacking into someone’s emails is a crime.’ Blake said.
I couldn’t believe this! ‘What are you going to ask her next, that my client sent the notes to herself and called herself?’ Jonathan asked Blake.
‘I haven’t said that, Mr. Hayes.’
‘My client had been attacked, and someone sent her those notes,’ Jonathan said.
‘What happened?’ Blake asked.
I told Blake what Sam did to me, the misplaced key, and everything else. After I finished, Blake leaned forward at his desk and gave me a stern look.
‘Wait, you’re telling me Mike’s friend... this Sam, hit you after a drunken one night stand and you had an affair with Mike, and now you are accusing Mike of hacking into your email. Meanwhile, one of his friends was sending you notes and making anonymous calls?’
How must I look in Blake’s eyes, a drunk who claims to have been assaulted by a bloke, has an affair with his friend, and a husband who winds up poisoned to death, after finding out about her affair. He must think I’m the biggest whore in town.
‘I didn’t know at the time because I had no recollection of what happened. I have my dress in my closet, it’s soiled, and it’s also torn from the shoulder, you can have a look if you like.’
‘Why didn’t you report it sooner?’ Blake asked.
‘I just told you, I couldn’t remember at the time. I had memory loss after it happened. I did make a report after I received one of those notes, but the police didn’t take me seriously!’ I said, exasperated.