“How was he?”
Debbie took a long breath and seemed to consider the question. “When he woke up? It took us a long time to convince him that he was out of that basement.” She paused. “Sometimes I wonder if we ever did.”
“Did he talk to you about it?” Susan asked.
“No,” Debbie said.
“But you must have an idea of what happened?”
Debbie’s eyes turned dark and cold. “She killed him. She murdered my husband. I believe that a person knows. I know what I felt.” She looked at Susan meaningfully. “And I know what he returned as.”
Susan glanced down at the digital recorder. Was it recording? The tiny red light above the microphone gleamed reassuringly. “Why did she do it, do you think?”
Debbie sat perfectly still for a moment. “I don’t know. But I think that whatever she was trying to do, she succeeded at it. She wouldn’t have ended it until she had. She’s not that type of person.”
“How long after it all happened did you two separate?” Susan asked.
“She took him around Thanksgiving. We were separated by spring break.” She looked away from Susan, into the backyard, a tree, a swing set, a hedge. “I know that sounds terrible. He was a mess. Couldn’t sleep. Panic attacks. I’m sorry, do you want more coffee?”
“What?” Susan looked down at her untouched mug. “No. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble.”
“I’m good.”
Debbie nodded a few times to herself and then stood up and carried the puzzle over to a four-shelf bookcase next to the little table and chairs. The bookcase was full of children’s books and board games and wooden puzzles, and she slid the vehicle puzzle in on top of some others. Then she turned to examine the room. Everything was in its place. She let her hands drop to her sides. “He didn’t like to leave the house. Wasn’t comfortable around the kids. He was on all this medication. He would sit for hours not doing anything at all. I was worried that he might do something to hurt himself.”
She let this hang in the air for a minute and then her face started to crumple. She put a hand over her mouth and turned her head and wrapped the other arm around her stomach. Susan stood up, but Debbie shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said. She took another minute and then wiped the tears from under her eyes with her thumb, smiled apologetically at Susan, and walked over to the kitchen. Picked up the French press, pulled the plunger out, and poured the rest of the coffee in the sink. Turned on the faucet. “Three months after Archie was rescued, Henry came to see us,” Debbie continued. “He told Archie that Gretchen Lowell had agreed to give up ten more bodies, people who were still missing, as part of a plea deal. But she said she would only give the locations to Archie. That was her deal breaker. Archie or nobody.” She rinsed the carafe out and opened the dishwasher and laid it on the top shelf. Then she held the plunger under the cold stream of water, head tilted, watching as the water washed away the grounds. “She’s a control freak. I think she liked the idea of having that control over him even from prison. But he didn’t have to do it. Henry said so. Everyone would have understood. But Archie was determined.”
The plunger was rinsed clean, but Debbie kept washing it, turning it under the water. “He had worked so long on the case that he had to bring closure to the families. Gretchen knew that, I suppose. Knew that he would have to agree. But there was more to it than that. Henry drove him down to Salem to see her about a week later. She kept her promise. Told them exactly where to find this seventeen-year-old girl she’d killed up in Seattle. She said that she would give up more bodies if he came to see her every week, every Sunday. Henry brought him back to the house later that day. And he fell asleep and slept for almost ten hours. No nightmares.” The look she gave Susan was withering. “Slept like a fucking baby. When he woke up, he was the calmest I had seen him since it all started. It was like seeing her had made him feel better. The more he saw her, the more he pulled away from us. I didn’t want him to keep going down there. It was not healthy. So I made him choose. Me or her.” Her choked laugh was humorless. “And he chose her.”
Susan couldn’t really think of what to say. “I’m sorry.”
The plunger lay in the sink. Debbie was looking out the window, her eyes glossed with tears. “She sent me flowers. From one of those Internet places. She must have ordered them before she was arrested. A dozen sunflowers.” Her mouth twisted. “‘My condolences on this sad occasion. With warm regards, Gretchen Lowell.’ They came to the house when he was in the hospital. I never told him that. Sunflowers. My favorite flower. I used to be quite the gardener. Now I have it all done by a service. I don’t like flowers anymore.” She smiled stiffly to herself. “I can’t stand the smell.”