He did as I asked and then turned to face me. “Okay.”
I had expected him to start explaining the second he saw me. He had to know why I was here.
“Just tell me the truth, Jason.”
“Babe, what are you—”
“Don’t insult me. There was no assault on our block last night.”
“You checked?”
“No. You don’t get to do that, Jason. You don’t get to lie to your wife and then complain that I was smart enough to figure it out.”
“Jesus, can I at least take a shower first?”
He flinched when the porcelain pencil cup that had been in front of me on the desk—the one that said “World’s Best Dad”—hit the wall two feet to his left. “Damn it, Angela. You on my ass is the last thing I need right now.”
“Why were the police really there, Jason? It’s about Rachel, isn’t it?” I thought again about those interns in the hallway. Did they know more than I did about what had happened between my husband and that girl in this office? “If you don’t tell me what you’re hiding, right now, I swear to god, I am picking up Spencer from school and taking him to my mother’s house. Stop lying to me.”
Jason looked defeated as he walked to his bathroom and grabbed a small white towel. He dropped into the adjacent chair and placed his head in the towel, his elbows propped on his knees.
“They asked me if I knew a woman named Kerry Lynch.”
I was glad he wasn’t looking up at me. I have a terrible poker face. I didn’t want him to know that I was already familiar with the name.
“Why?”
He shook his head back and forth. “It was the same detective who called me about Rachel when I was in Philly. She said a new witness name had come up. She asked if I knew her. I explained that Kerry’s the head of marketing for Oasis, that water company I told you about. I asked why she was asking. She said she wanted to know the nature of our relationship.”
“So what did you say?”
He shrugged. “That I know her from my consulting work.”
I shook my head. “Didn’t you have a meeting with her a few days ago?”
He stared at me blankly. “How did you know that?”
“You told me, remember?”
“I didn’t say her name.”
“It doesn’t matter, Jason. You told me about the meeting when we were talking about that company. When the police came to the house, what exactly did they ask you?”
“They said Kerry’s name had come up as a potential witness. They asked if I knew her, and asked how I knew her.” He paused, and I knew there had to be more to the story. “And they asked whether there was any kind of sexual relationship between us.”
“And?”
“I told you: she works for a client. That’s all, I swear.”
“Why didn’t you refuse to answer, like you did when the detective called you the first time?”
“I should have. But it’s a lot easier to talk tough on the phone than when a cop’s standing in the foyer making it sound like a straightforward question. I really didn’t see the harm in answering. Rachel met Kerry once at FSS. I figured that’s why they asked me about her—like maybe Rachel mentioned Kerry as a potential witness or something.”
“So why did you lie to me?”
“I didn’t want you to worry. Nothing happened with me and Rachel. I was certain that whatever they were looking into with Kerry would all be sorted out before long.”
“But what if it’s not about Rachel, Jason? What if this woman, Kerry, is making accusations too?”
He shook his head. “She wouldn’t.”
“Rachel did,” I snapped. “Why wouldn’t this woman?”
I saw a glimpse of concern cross his face.
“I called her this morning and asked her.”
“What? Jason, that’s crazy. You should have called your lawyer.”
“We work together. I talk to her regularly. I asked her if the police had contacted her.”
“And?”
“She said no, and then had to run into a meeting. The call was probably less than a minute.”
“She could be lying, Jason.” Just from watching TV, I couldn’t imagine the police coming to our house to ask about a relationship with this woman unless they’d spoken to her first. “You said there’s a problem at the company—the kickbacks or whatever. Could it be related to that?”
“Maybe.” His gaze drifted into the distance, seeing the possibility for the first time. “Remember how I told you that I’d been trying to get one of the employees to help me prove my suspicions?”
I nodded.
“That was Kerry. When I told her my concerns, I could tell she knew more than she was letting on. She finally admitted that she had found internal documents that could prove their wrongdoing, but she was too scared to give me the evidence. I was trying to convince her to give them to me.” His voice trailed off.
“Why is that your job, Jason? Couldn’t you have called the police or something?”
“More like the FBI or State Department. But my investors would be fucked, and so would my reputation. I’d go from being Mr. Socially Responsible to a Supporter of Warlords. But if I had actual proof, not merely insinuation, if I were a whistleblower, I’d be protected. And I could probably recoup my investors’ funds, too.”
“And that’s why you met with Kerry this week?”
“I’ve been trying to convince her for weeks. I told her she’d be protected if she helped me expose Oasis. But then Rachel’s ridiculous complaint hit the news. My guess is that Kerry changed her mind and told her bosses what I was up to instead. I could be completely screwed.”
A few minutes ago, he had been convinced this was nothing to worry about. Now my husband was panicking.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The last time I met with her. She was supposed to give me documents. She wanted to meet somewhere private.”
I felt my eyes widen.
“I went to her house in Port Washington. Fuck, no one else was there. She can make up whatever she wants, and I can’t prove a thing.”
When I got home, Spencer was lying on the sofa, looking at something on his phone. He tucked it under his side when I walked through the door. Stepping toward him, I could see that he’d turned off the screen.
“So what was that?”
I remembered a few boys eagerly passing around a magazine when I was a couple of years older than Spencer, scanning the school hallways to make sure no teachers were watching before covertly handling the transfer. Into the next backpack the magazine went. Trisha and I concocted a plan to get a glimpse at what we were missing. While Teddy Dunnigan was working on his homework at lunch, Trisha undid an extra button on her blouse and leaned over to ask if he knew the math assignment for sixth hour. While he ogled her, I slipped my hand into the open backpack on the floor behind him and made off with our bounty.
By that time, I had seen plenty of R-rated movies and a couple of Playboys. I had even let Bill McIlroy cop a feel under my shirt. But I hadn’t seen—or heard of, or even imagined—the kinds of things depicted in the photographs in that magazine.
Those pictures would be tame compared to the videos that were now prevalent online. I had read articles about the damage that pornography does, especially to kids, boys in particular. We supposedly had filters to keep Spencer from looking at that stuff, but I had no idea how well they worked, especially for a kid as smart as my son.
“Nothing,” he said, a little too quickly.
“Spencer . . . .” I started to reach for his phone, but he snatched it first.
“Not cool, kid.”
He relented and handed over his device.
His browser was open to a blog called The Pink Spot. I had never heard of it.
The photo at the top of the post was the one making the rounds—Rachel’s blurred face nuzzling up to Wilson Stewart. Someone had marked the photo with a red no-smoking insignia.