She took another sip of her drink, which was more water than Scotch at this point. She checked the time. Too late to call her sister. Sara wanted to talk to someone, to work through the grand explosion that had shattered her life, and Tessa was the only safe haven. Faith had to be on Will’s side because she was his partner and their unquestioned loyalty was what kept them both safe. Calling her mother was not an option. The first thing out of Cathy Linton’s mouth would be a giant ‘I told you so.’
And God knows her mother had told her so. Many times. Countless times. Don’t date a married man. Don’t fall in love with a married man. Don’t ever think that you can trust a married man. Sara had thought there was more nuance to their story than her mother was picking up on, but now she was having second thoughts. The only words worse than ‘I told you so’ were ‘Yes, Mother, you were right.’
Sara looked at the time again. Not even a minute had ticked by. She weighed the consequences of waking up her sister. Tessa was in South Africa. It was two in the morning on her side of the world. She would panic if the phone rang so early. Besides, Sara knew exactly how the conversation would go. The first thing out of Tessa’s mouth would be ‘Show him how you feel.’
What she meant was that Sara should break down in front of Will, let him see that she was a basket case and couldn’t live without him. Which was a lie, because Sara could live without Will. She would be miserable, she would be devastated, but she could manage it. Losing her husband had taught her at least that.
But Tessa wouldn’t let Sara hide behind Jeffrey’s death. She would likely say something about riding a high horse into the lonely sunset. Sara would remind her that one of the things Will liked about her was her strength. Tessa would say that she was confusing strength with stubbornness, and then she would do what she always did: allude to what her family called the Bambi incident. The first time they had watched the film, Tessa had wept uncontrollably. Sara had mumbled an excuse about needing to study for a spelling test because she hadn’t wanted anyone to see her crying.
Tessa’s final point would be delivered in a tone reminiscent of their mother: ‘Only a fool thinks she can fool other people.’
On the contrary, Sara had made a career out of fooling people. If you were a parent with a sick kid, the last thing you needed was a doctor who couldn’t stop bawling. If you were a terrified patient, you didn’t want to see your doctor break down at your bedside. The skills transferred. There was nothing to be gained by turning into a mess in front of Will. It was a cheap way to win an argument. He would comfort her, and she would feel horrible for manipulating him, and in the morning nothing would’ve changed.
He would still be in love with his wife.
Sara took a mouthful of Scotch and held it before she swallowed.
Was that the truth? Did Will really love Angie the way a husband loved his wife? He had lied to Sara about seeing her on Saturday. He was probably lying about other things. Death had a way of focusing your emotions. Maybe losing Angie had made Will realize that he didn’t want Sara after all.
There was no need for him to call or text if there was nothing left to say.
The dogs shifted. Bob jumped down from the couch. Billy followed. Sara heard a soft knock at the door. She looked at the door as if it could explain how someone had gotten into the building without using the intercom system. Sara was on the penthouse floor. She had only one neighbor, Abel Conford, who was on vacation for the month.
There was another soft knock. The dogs ambled over to the door. Betty stayed on the pillow. She yawned.
Sara put her laptop on the coffee table. She forced herself to stand up. And to not get angry, because the only reason the dogs weren’t barking was because they recognized the man knocking on the door.
She had given Will a key last year. It was cute that he’d still knocked on the door the first week after. Now, it was annoying.
Sara opened the door. Will had his hands in his pockets. He was wearing jeans and the gray Ermenegildo Zegna polo she had slipped in with his Gap T-shirts.
He saw the laptop. ‘You’re watching Buffy without me?’
Sara left the door open and went back to retrieve her drink. The loft was open-concept, the living room, dining-room and kitchen taking up one large space. Sara was glad to be able to put some distance between them. She sat down on the couch. Betty stood from the pillow. She stretched and yawned again, but didn’t go to Will.
He didn’t go to the dog either. Or Sara. He stood with his back against the kitchen counter. He asked, ‘She did okay? At the vet?’
‘Yes.’
His hands were gripped together the way he used to do when he twisted his wedding ring around his finger. The skin over the knuckles of his index and middle fingers was broken open.
Sara didn’t ask about the injury. She took another drink from her glass.
‘There’s a girl,’ he said. ‘She might know what Harding knew. What got him killed. That could get her killed.’
Sara feigned interest. ‘This is the Jane Doe you found in the office building?’
‘No, another girl. Harding’s wife. Daughter. Maybe. We don’t know.’
Sara drank her Scotch.
‘I cut myself.’ Instead of holding up his hand, he turned and showed her the back of his right leg. There was a dark patch of blood. ‘I slipped through some floorboards.’ He waited. ‘There’s a couple of splinters.’
‘If it’s been longer than six hours, it’s too late for sutures.’
Will waited.
Sara waited too. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. If he was going to break up with her, then he had to be a man about it.
He said, ‘Have you had much?’ He paused. ‘To drink?’
‘Not nearly enough.’ Sara got up from the couch. She passed Will on her way into the kitchen. Her stomach wouldn’t like a second drink on top of the earlier glass of wine, but she poured herself one anyway.
Will stood on the other side of the counter. He watched her top off the glass. He had a physical aversion to alcohol. His shoulders squared. His chin lifted. She wasn’t even sure if he noticed. She had to assume it was muscle memory from all the drunks who had abused him when he was a child. As with most things, Will did not talk about it.
She asked, ‘Do you want one?’
He nodded. ‘Okay.’
Sara had seen him drink alcohol once, but that was under duress. She had forced a trickle of Scotch down his throat because he couldn’t stop coughing.
He asked, ‘Do you have gin?’
She leaned down to search the cabinet, which, until tonight, she hadn’t opened for months. Dust covered the foiled corks in the wine. There was a full bottle of gin in the back, but something told her that gin was Angie’s drink, and Sara was not going to toast her boyfriend’s dead wife in her kitchen.
She stood up. ‘No gin. There’s wine in the fridge, or do you want Scotch?’
‘That’s what I had before?’
She took down a glass and poured him a double. When he didn’t move to take it, Sara slid the glass across the counter. He still didn’t take it.
She said, ‘Amanda told me not to tell you, but there was a note from Angie.’
The color drained from his face. ‘How did she . . . ?’
‘You already knew?’
He opened his mouth again, but nothing came out.
Sara said, ‘I’m glad it’s out in the open. I wasn’t going to lie, or pretend that I didn’t know. That would make me the worst kind of hypocrite.’
‘How . . .’ He hesitated. ‘How does Amanda know?’
‘She’s in charge of the investigation, Will. It’s her job to know everything.’
He spread his hands palms down on the counter. He wouldn’t look at her.
Sara thought back to the crime scene bus, Charlie’s glee when he’d shown her the glowing HELP ME on the wall. Angie’s injuries had been severe, life-threatening, but she had stopped to write the words in her own blood, knowing that Will would see them. That Sara would see them. That everyone would know that Angie would always have her claws in him. She might as well have written FUCK YOU, SARA LINTON.
Will asked, ‘Did you read it? The note?’
‘Yes. I’m the one who recognized her handwriting.’
Will kept staring at his hands. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what? You said it before: you can’t control her.’