“What about the garage?” Sarah asked. “We should check it for blood.”
There were a few tiny spots and Sarah poured bleach on each one while Julie and I scrubbed the concrete with a sponge until we couldn’t see anything.
“You have to get rid of the smell,” I said. “They’ll be suspicious of that. Do you have any scented candles? You need something strong to cover the bleach.”
Sarah knelt next to the damp spots to get a closer look. “I think we got all the blood, but you need to dry these spots otherwise it’ll be a red flag.”
“Okay, candles and a hair dryer—got it.” Heather ran back inside.
“That’s a relief,” I said once she was gone. “She couldn’t have fooled anybody the way she was acting before.”
“I guess she should call the police right after we leave,” Julie said.
“No, absolutely not,” Sarah said. “She goes to bed and she doesn’t realize her husband isn’t home until she wakes up later this morning—that’s when she calls.”
“And she should call the hospital first,” I said. “Or better yet his cell phone, which we know is going to go to voice mail, and then she should call the hospital.” I was trembling and it wasn’t just from being cold.
Heather came back with the dryer and a large white jar candle. “I’ll dry,” Sarah said. “You light the candle.”
Julie and I paced, pausing only to check the concrete floor with Sarah every few minutes. It took an interminable ten minutes before the damp spots were gone. The smell of bleach was overlaid with the burning odor from the hair dryer, but soon the sickly sweet aroma of vanilla-bean-scented candle began to overpower them.
There were a few tiny brown specks left on the concrete, but the largest of them was the size of a pinhead. No one would notice.
“Your hands,” I said, suddenly remembering. “Scrub them again with bleach and your fingernails, too, just to make sure there’s no gunshot residue. They probably won’t check, but better safe than sorry.”
Heather frowned and Sarah said, “Hopefully it won’t come to that and they won’t check you, but you’ve got to be prepared.”
“And make sure you’ve poured bleach down all the drains you used,” I reminded her. “Bleach and hot water.”
“Okay, we need to leave,” Sarah said, checking her watch. “Especially Alison—she’s got to wash her clothes.”
We reviewed what Heather should do one more time: sleep if she could for a few hours and then wake at her usual time, seven A.M., and pretend that this was when she realized that Viktor never came home. Call his cell phone and leave a message. “You want to sound concerned, but not overly concerned, not yet,” I said. “He’s been gone all night before, right?”
Heather nodded. “Not often, but sometimes he’d spend all night at the hospital.”
“So you’re just calling to check in and you can express surprise and a little concern that he didn’t come home, but not too much,” Sarah said.
“Save the concern for the call to the police,” I said. “After the hospital tells you he isn’t there, then you call the police.” I thought of something else. “When is Daniel coming home?”
“Sometime tomorrow.” Heather shrugged. “Anna never specifies—she wants it to be inconvenient for me.”
“Should Heather call Anna and tell her about Viktor?” Julie asked.
“Yes, good idea,” Sarah said. “You call Anna before you call the police—ask if she’s heard from her son. But before you call her, call his cell phone again after you call the hospital. Leave a frantic message.”
“Wait, it’s too many things to remember,” Heather said. “I need to write it down.” She went back inside to fetch a pen and notepad and we followed her back into the laundry room while she made a list.
“Burn that paper after you’re done with it,” Sarah said. “And two sheets underneath it, too. You don’t want any impression left for the police to trace.”
Julie glanced at her watch. “It’s almost half past.”
I shivered. “We have to leave.”
We stood there for a moment and then spontaneously moved together for a group hug—clinging to one another tightly. Something we would do for fun at other gatherings. “C’mon, group hug, let’s all sing ‘Kumbaya!’” Joking and laughing.
No one laughed now.
As three of us walked out to our cars, Sarah suggested that we rehearse what we were going to say if anyone at our houses was awake and asked where we’d been. “No need for me to have an excuse,” Julie said. “Brian’s at a conference in D.C.”
“You left the kids alone?” Sarah looked at her askance.
“They’re deep sleepers,” Julie said, unconcerned. “I left a note with my cell number in case they woke up.”
“What did the note say? Mommy had to go hide a body?”
Julie ignored her, turning to me. “You can both say you were at my house if Michael or Eric asks.”
“In the middle of the night?” Sarah said. “We’d need some reason.”
“Say that I heard some noise and with Brian out of town I was afraid to be alone.”
“And what if the police pull Heather’s cell-phone records?” I said. “They’ll see that she called me.”
“With any luck it won’t come to that,” Sarah said. “But if they do, then you can say the same thing—Heather called because she heard a strange noise and her husband wasn’t home to reassure her.”
There were so many pieces to remember, so many threads. The adrenaline was passing; I yawned as I got behind the wheel of my car. I already had the beginnings of that sinking feeling in my stomach, that sense of regret at having done something that I couldn’t undo.
*
The house was silent when I got home. It was so late that even George barely stirred, merely lifting his head from his dog bed to stare at me with big, questioning eyes. I stuffed the clothes I’d been wearing in the wash, grateful that I tended to procrastinate putting away laundry so there was a basket of clean clothing, including a nightshirt, which I slipped on before padding as soundlessly as possible upstairs to bed.
There was no noise on the second floor. I listened outside the kids’ bedrooms, but didn’t hear anything. I used my iPhone flashlight to find my way down the dark hall to the master bedroom, and slipped under the covers next to Michael. He stirred, making a grumbling sound at the rush of cold air that came in as I lifted the covers, but didn’t wake. I thought I’d have trouble falling asleep, but exhaustion overcame fear.
“Ali? Alison? Wake up, honey.” Michael was gently shaking me. I rolled onto my back and blinked up at him.
“What’s going on? Why are you up?”
He smiled. “It’s after eight. I let you sleep as long as I could, but I’ve got to take off.” He walked over to the windows and pulled back the heavy drapes. Filtered light poured in through the sheers, still bright enough that my eyes automatically shut, but not before I saw that he was ready for work in a suit and tie. “The kids are fed, and I packed them lunches, but the kitchen’s a mess. Leave it for me—I can get it later.” He bent down to give me a quick hug and kiss and I could smell coffee on his breath. “Hey, what happened here?” he ran a finger lightly down the side of my face and I winced. “You’ve got a scratch—how did you manage to do that?”
“A nail, I guess,” I said, trying to shrug.
“You feeling okay?” He stroked the hair back from my face. “You were out like a light.”
I nodded, trying to return his smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.” I swung out of bed, wondering if he’d also notice that I’d changed pajamas, but he didn’t.
He checked his watch. “It’s cutting it close to make the bus on time; can you drop Lucy off this morning?”