‘Recently?’
‘The last one was three weeks ago.’ Sara was working her last shift as a pediatrician at Grady Hospital. A four-year-old had mistaken a bag of crystal meth for candy. The boy was in full cardiac arrest when the paramedics brought him in. She had tried for hours to save him. Nothing had worked. And then she had gone out to her car and found the words FUCKING WHORE written in dark eyeliner on her windshield.
There was no question the missive was from Will’s wife. Angie had a disjointed cursive with Fs that looked like Js and Es that resembled backward 3s. The two letters appeared in just about every note she’d ever left, starting a year ago, the morning after the first night Will had spent at Sara’s apartment.
Amanda asked Will, ‘Angie never left notes for you?’
Will rubbed the side of his jaw. ‘She wouldn’t do that.’
Sara looked down at the ground. He knew her so well.
‘All right.’ Amanda sounded even more flustered than before. ‘I’ll give the two of you five minutes to talk, then you’re back to work.’
‘No.’ Will almost shouted the word. ‘I need to look for Angie. You’ve got to let me look for her.’
‘And what happens if you find her dead body, Will? Your ex-wife you’ve been trying to divorce so you can be with your new girlfriend? And the medical examiner in charge of the crime scene just happens to be said new girlfriend? And your partner and your boss are working the case, too? How’s that going to read in the paper? Or do you need me to read it for you?’
Sara could tell from Will’s expression that he hadn’t considered any of this.
Amanda continued, ‘Your wife murdered—or didn’t murder, according to your girlfriend—a cop who was on Kip Kilpatrick’s payroll, in the service of Marcus Rippy, who you’ve just harassed with a false rape charge for the last seven months, and oh, by the way, this same wife was stalking your girlfriend.’ She had her hands on her hips. ‘Does that sound about right to you?’
‘I just want to find her.’
‘I know you do, but you’re going to have to let me handle this.’ Amanda told Sara, ‘Five minutes.’ Her low heels made a snapping sound as she walked toward the lift. Sara hadn’t even heard Charlie bring the platform back up.
Will opened his mouth to speak, but Sara stopped him.
‘This way,’ she said, indicating that they should move away from the murder room. No matter how Dale Harding had lived, he deserved some respect in death.
Will’s Tyveked feet shuffled across the floor. His shoulders were slumped, giving him the air of a kid being taken to the woodshed. He stopped behind the stack of Sheetrock. He rubbed his face with both hands, wiping off any expression.
Sara stood in front of him. She waited for him to say something—anything. That he was sorry he had lied or that he was sad or angry or that he loved her and they would get through this or that he never wanted to see her again.
He said nothing.
He stared over her shoulder at the space where the lift would return. His fists were still clenched. His body was coiled, ready to leap the second the platform was in sight.
‘I’m not keeping you here.’ Sara felt the words catch in her throat. Her tone tended to go soft when she was angry. She could barely raise her voice above a whisper. ‘You can go over there and wait. I’ve got plenty of work to do.’
Will didn’t move. They both knew Charlie wouldn’t return until their five minutes was up. ‘What do you want me to say?’
Her heart was pounding. Her mouth had gone dry. He sounded angry. He had no right to be angry. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you saw her?’
‘I didn’t want to upset you.’
‘Usually when people say that, what they really mean is they didn’t have the guts to be honest.’
He gave a laugh that flipped a switch inside of her.
Sara had never wanted to slap him so badly in her life.
‘Look at me.’
His reluctance was palpable, but he finally looked at her.
‘You know she took my lipstick. That she went through my things.’ Sara felt her tears return, this time from anger. Everything started to unwind from the lipstick, because Angie wasn’t the type of person who stopped at just one violation. Sara thought about all of the private things she had left at Will’s house. Picturing Angie finding them, touching them, made her sick with rage. ‘Do you think she broke into my apartment?’
‘I don’t know.’ He held out his hands in an open shrug, like none of this was his problem. ‘What do you want me to—’
‘Shut up.’ Sara’s throat strained around the words. ‘She went through my things. Our things.’
Will rubbed his jaw with his fingers. He glanced back at the balcony.
‘You changed the locks on your doors last year.’ At least Sara knew this was the truth. He’d given her a new key. She had seen the new deadbolts. ‘Did you give her a key, too?’
He shook his head.
‘How long have you known that she’s been breaking into your house?’
He shrugged.
‘Are you going to answer me?’
‘You told me to shut up.’
Sara tasted bile in her mouth. She had left her laptop at Will’s. Her entire life was on that thing—patient files, emails, her address book, her calendar, photographs. Had Angie guessed her password? Had she gone through Sara’s overnight bag? Had she worn Sara’s clothes? What else had she stolen?
‘Look,’ Will said. ‘I’m not even sure she was in the house. It’s just that sometimes stuff was moved. Or maybe you moved it. Or I did. Or—’
‘Really? That’s what you thought?’ Will was congenitally tidy. He always put everything back in its place, and Sara was careful to do the same when she was in his house. ‘Why didn’t you change the locks again?’
‘For what? Do you think it’s that easy to stop her? That I can actually control her?’ He sounded baffled by the question, and maybe he was, because as stubborn as Will could be, as strong as he was, Angie was always the one who dictated the terms of their relationship. She was like an older sister who wanted to protect him. Like a twisted lover who used sex to control him. Like a hateful wife who didn’t want to be married, but didn’t want to let him go. Angie loved him. She hated him. She needed him. She disappeared, sometimes for days, sometimes for weeks, months, more than once for a full year. That she always came back had been the only constant in Will’s life for almost three decades.
Sara asked, ‘Have you really been looking for her?’
‘I showed you the divorce papers.’
‘Is that a yes?’
There was a flicker of anger in his eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘Have you seen her before without telling me?’ A bitter panic filled her mouth. ‘Have you been with her?’
The anger glowed white-hot, as if she had no right to ask the question. ‘No, Sara. I haven’t been fucking her behind your back.’
Was he telling the truth? Could she trust what he was saying? Sara had upended her life for this man. She had silenced her gut instinct. She had compromised her morals. She had taken this job. She had made a complete fool of herself in front of everyone she worked with. Not to mention what her family would think, because there was no way to hide this awfulness from them without turning herself into a bigger liar than Will.
He asked, ‘Do you think she’s still alive?’
‘I don’t know.’ The truth had the benefit of a cruel uncertainty.
Will looked at his watch. He was actually timing this, waiting for the second the lift came back up so he could jump on his white horse and save Angie yet again.