You want me to go at him with that? Seriously? Well, it makes sense that you would brutally rape a local teenager—after all, you’re ambitious and successful—
“Detective,” I interrupted him, “let me ask you this: Wasn’t the first thing you did on this case to look for anyone in and around Fairview with a sex offense? That and the blue Civic? If this college record had been an actual charge, wouldn’t you have at least asked him politely for an alibi so you could rule him out? Surely he would understand that, and gladly provide one. You’ve done more than that with half the teenage boys in this town, haven’t you?”
It’s not the same. The boys were at the party. We already knew that. How am I gonna explain my reasons for digging up his records? He’ll hire his own investigators. A team of lawyers. This whole thing will be out of my hands then. And over what?
“But he’s running for office. I’m shocked the press haven’t already found it. Let him believe someone handed it to you.”
I don’t know. Seems like a stretch. It’s the state legislature. His opponent is an eighty-year-old probate judge with a couple of nickels to rub together. No … even if I don’t tell him why I need the alibi, I gotta have something. Don’t tell me what it is. Just tell me there’s something if I need it. Tell me you didn’t send me on this goose chase without a really good reason.
I pretended to mull this over. I sighed. I hemmed and hawed. Parsons was very nervous.
“There is something. It’s not reliable. It would get torn apart in court. But it certainly is enough.”
I don’t think this is what Parsons wanted to hear. I think he wanted a reason to close the door on Bob Sullivan. Parsons’s zeal for this case came and went with the turn of the spotlight. When it was shining outside of Fairview, he was a tiger on the hunt. I think about him in that car, dying to pounce on Cruz Demarco. When Demarco came up with an alibi, Parsons went back at the swim team and the search for the blue sweatshirt, but with far less ambition. He did not even know the names of the boys on the list. He had been surprised to hear about Jason. What kind of detective work is that? I did not know why this was. Perhaps he didn’t want to muddy his own pond. For weeks, he’d been doing what he had to do to keep Tom Kramer satisfied—and no more. Although Tom never was satisfied.
Parsons hung up. It was only a matter of days before Bob would be interviewed, before he would know he was in the mix somehow. He would then go to Charlotte, and she would tell him about the recovered memory of his voice and how Jenny had mixed it up in her head. What then? That was the question. Where would the wind blow next? What else would the fire burn? Bob’s marriage? His run for office? Charlotte?
I went home after that call. I could not concentrate. I could not listen to anyone else’s problems. I took more lorazepam. The dose was small. It was barely enough to smooth the edges of my anxiety.
My excitement at the gift, the wind and the fire it fed, was fleeting, and I realized that a great darkness was covering my sky. I don’t know how else to explain this to you. Some of you will understand. Those of you who come to my office and sit on my sofa and tell me the things you have done that cannot be undone, or the things that have been done to you. All of life is just a state of mind, isn’t it? We are all just walking slowly to our graves, trying not to think about it, trying to find meaning, to pass the time pleasantly. Look around you. Everyone you can see will be dead in one hundred years: You. Your spouse. Your child. Your friends. The people who love you. The people who hate you. Terrorists in the Middle East. The politicians raising your taxes and making bad policies. The teacher who gave your son a bad grade. The couple who didn’t invite you to a dinner.
I have gone down this mental path when things have upset me. I find it puts life in perspective. It can be a good thing, to remember that there is very little that truly matters. A bad grade. A dumb politician. A social slight.
Unfortunately, there are things that do matter. Things that can ruin what little time we have here. Things that cannot be done over or remedied. These are the things that we regret. And regret is more devious than guilt. It is more corrosive than envy. And it is more powerful than fear.
Why did I take my eyes off the swimming pool? Why did I take my eyes off the road? Why did I cheat on my wife? Why did I steal from my clients?