He saw that as a good sign. He’d been hoping for one, given Charlotte’s avoidance since Paul’s death. Not taking his calls, ignoring texts. Yes, she’d told him, weeks earlier, that whenever it was done, they had to be discreet. They did not want to attract any undue attention.
Fine. He got that. But the thing was, he had questions. Like, how long would they put up with the charade? They did work together, after all. How long before he could stay at her place, or she could sleep over at his? It was nobody else’s business what they did now. Paul was dead. Wasn’t Charlotte entitled to move on with her life?
But son of a bitch, just like he’d whispered to her, it had worked. Better than he had ever imagined.
He paced the house. Antsy. Anxious.
He happened to glance out the window, saw a Lincoln SUV parked across the street. He’d noticed the car in his rearview driving home. He squinted, tried to see who was behind the wheel.
It was a woman, and she looked familiar. Bill thought he had seen her at the funeral. What the hell did she want?
There was only one way to find out.
He went out the front door, crossed the street, and while the woman was engrossed in her phone, went up to the window and knocked on it with his knuckle. Asked if he could help her. Gave her quite a start.
The woman put down the window.
Bill, thinking maybe she hadn’t heard him through the glass the first time, asked again, “Can I help you?”
“Mr. Myers?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Anna White. I was Paul’s—”
“I know who you are,” he said, nodding. “You were there, the other night, when Paul, you know, when things got really bad.”
“I’m sorry to bother you. I’d hoped to talk to you at the service but missed you. And now I’ve been sitting out here, like an idiot, trying to work up the courage to speak to you. I wasn’t sure whether to bother you at a time like this, what with Paul being your friend and all.”
Bill studied her for a second. “Uh, well—”
“It wouldn’t take long. I just want to have a few words.”
Bill shrugged. “Come on in.”
She got out of the car, locked it, and walked to his front door with him. “I thought your eulogy was very heartfelt.”
He shrugged. “Thanks.” He opened the door for her and invited her to sit in the living room.
Anna settled into a soft chair. “How is Charlotte doing?”
“Well, she’s devastated, of course,” he said.
“I can imagine. I dropped by to see her, after it happened. But I think it was a mistake. Did she tell you I visited her?”
“No,” he said. “So, what did you want to talk about?”
“I suppose I wanted to tell you what I told Charlotte. That I feel terribly sorry. That I feel I failed your friend. It’s all been weighing heavily on me.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one. I mean, I guess we all played a role there.”
“Did you see the signs?” she asked earnestly.
He nodded slowly. “Like I said in the church, I guess we all did. Charlotte for sure. And anytime I saw Paul, I could tell he was pretty troubled.”
“Troubled, yes. But anything that suggested to you he’d take his own life?”
“Well, come on. Look at everything that was going on. The attempt on his life, the nightmares, thinking his typewriter was somehow possessed or something? That must have been some scene the other night.”
“It was.”
“I don’t know how he did it. Without waking up Charlotte.”
“You mean . . .”
“Going down to the garage, bringing up the typewriter, putting it right there by the bed. Shit, I still can’t get my head around it. You’re the expert. Do you think he knew what he was doing? Was it like a split personality or something? One part of him was doing all the typewriter stuff, and another part was scared shitless by it?”
“I don’t know,” Anna said.
“Well, if you don’t, given your expertise, I guess we’ll never know,” he said.
“So, looking back, you’re not surprised Paul took his own life?”
“What’s the phrase?” Bill asked. “Shocked, but not surprised.”
“I get that. So that’s why I’m a little puzzled.”
“Puzzled?”
“The other night.”
“Yes?”
“What puzzles me is what you said to Paul when he got on the phone with you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When the subject came up about him going to the hospital, you advised against it.”
Bill was, briefly, at a loss for words. “I don’t know that I’d go that far.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean, I may have pointed out the drawbacks to being admitted to the hospital, but it’s not like I told him not to do it.”
“I got the sense you were quite adamant. You persuaded him not to go.”
“I don’t see why you’re laying this on me,” he said defensively. “You’re his therapist, for Christ’s sake. If you thought he should have been put into a psych ward, you should have overruled me.”
“I couldn’t force Paul into the hospital against his wishes, not if he didn’t present an immediate danger to himself, and I was not sure at that moment he did. But you’ve just told me that you saw indications that Paul might harm himself. That he might take his own life. And you’ve just told me you believed he was writing the messages himself, moving the typewriter around, himself. That one part of his mind was doing all this, while another part was unaware.”
“I don’t think I said that exactly.”
Anna smiled. “You’re right, I may have paraphrased slightly.”
“I don’t get where you’re going with all this, Dr. White.”
“Let me be clear, I’m not absolving myself of any blame,” she stated. “But I don’t understand why you talked your best friend out of getting more intensive psychiatric care when, from everything you’ve told me, you believed he was suicidal and carrying out actions his conscious mind was unaware of.”
“It’s not like the way you’re making it sound,” Bill said. “He was my friend. And a lot of it’s Monday morning quarterbacking, you know? You didn’t realize you were seeing the signs until it was too late.”
“Right,” she said. “I totally understand.”
There was a silence between them.
Bill broke it by saying, “I don’t know what else to say.” He stood, signaling it was time for Anna to go.
“What worked?” Anna asked, still seated, looking up.
“Huh?” he said.
“In the church, as we were walking out, you said to Charlotte, ‘It worked.’ I wondered what you were referring to. What was it that worked?”
He stared at her for two seconds and said, “I don’t remember saying that. You must have misheard me.” Bill smiled weakly as he moved toward the door. Then the lightbulb went off. “Oh, I remember. I did say that. I was referring to my little speech. I had it all written up at the office, did it on the computer there, and I couldn’t get it to print out. There wasn’t a soul there, because everyone else was on the way to the funeral, so I actually called Charlotte about it—like she had nothing more serious to worry about at a time like this—and she said the office printer had been acting up, that it was probably jammed, so I opened the printer up and sure enough she was right. So I cleared it, and then I was able to print out the eulogy. So that was the reference. To the printer. That I got it to work.”
Anna nodded. “That makes sense.”
He smiled as he opened the door. “You have a nice day.”
“You, too,” Anna said. She stood, left the house, and headed for her car.
Bill needed to know—right fucking now—what Anna White had said when she’d visited Charlotte. If Charlotte declined his call, he’d show up on her doorstep.
I hope we don’t have a problem.
Fifty-Four
Once Anna White was back behind the wheel of her car, and before she turned on the engine, she lightly drove the heel of her hand into her forehead.
“Idiot,” she said.
It was as simple as that. A printer that would not print.
And then, with advice from Charlotte, it became a printer that did print.
“It worked.”
There you had it.