“Good idea.”
Eager to leave before someone emerged from the bedroom, Mark and Todd wrapped things up and said good-bye. They hurried from the suite, and the hotel, and drove aimlessly past Reagan National Airport. They worried about Zola but had no desire to return to Gordy’s apartment, not for a while anyway. They passed through Alexandria, drifted south, at some point turned east, crossed the river on the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, and parked at the National Harbor Marina. The Potomac stretched before them, seemingly a mile wide and flowing south as if all was well. There were no signs of a search. They had seen two Coast Guard ships and the police boats near the airport, but nothing this far below the Arlington Memorial Bridge.
Mark said, “Do you suppose they can project how far and how fast a body will travel in the river?”
“You’re asking me?” Todd replied.
“I thought you knew about these things. Didn’t you have a friend who drowned in high school?”
“Yep, Joey Barnes. Fifteen years old.” Todd tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and thought about his old friend. “Drowning victims go under and sink to the bottom, regardless of the depth. If the water is cold it takes longer. Once on the bottom, some chemical reactions take place and these force the body to rise. Almost all of them do, usually not far from where they made a splash. There’s a chance he’ll get snagged on something and remain below.”
They thought about this as the heater hummed away. Mark said, “He’ll wash up, don’t you think?”
“They’ll find him. We need a funeral and a burial and a closing to this mess. I can’t imagine a memorial service someday without a body.”
“They’ll find him. And then we’ll bury him. And then we’re supposed to hustle back to law school for our last semester.”
“I can’t even think about that.”
“Law school is the reason Gordy’s dead, Todd. If he’d never gone to law school he’d be fine right now.”
“Wouldn’t we all?”
“I can’t go back.”
“Let’s talk about it later. Right now we need some sleep.”
—
EARLY IN THE afternoon, Dr. Karvey called Mark and asked if he and Todd could retrieve Gordy’s car, drive it over to the hotel, and meet with Mr. and Mrs. Tanner. They couldn’t think of anything worse, but at the moment the family needed them and there was no one else available. So for the second time in two days, they went to the city pound to fetch Gordy’s little blue Mazda. Seconds before he jumped, he turned off the ignition and evidently stuck the extra key in his pocket. Fortunately, Mark still had his collection of keys. The city kindly waived the towing and storage fees and saved them $200.
The Karvey suite was worse than a morgue. Brenda sat on a sofa between her mother and Mrs. Tanner, two women who supposedly loathed each other and had been squabbling over the wedding plans. Now, though, that was behind them and they were suffering in unified grief.
Once more, Todd and Mark tag teamed through the painful narrative of the past few days and tried to deflect as much blame as possible. The graciousness Dr. Karvey had shown early that morning was gone, though he tried to keep things calm. Mr. Tanner asked many pointed questions about what Mark and Todd did and didn’t do. Why did Mark lie about Gordy being sick with the flu? Why didn’t they simply call the family for help? How did they allow Gordy to sneak out of his apartment not once but twice? What steps did they take to control his drinking? And so on. Brenda said little. She either stared at the floor and wiped her eyes or glared at them as if they themselves had tossed him off the bridge. It was a horrible, gut-wrenching meeting, and at one point everyone in the room, including Mark and Todd, was in tears. As things deteriorated, Mark finally threw up his hands, said enough was enough, and stormed out of the suite, with Todd right behind him.
They drove away in silence, sick with the knowledge that the families would always hold them responsible for Gordy’s death, but also furious that they were being blamed. It was too easy now, with perfect hindsight, to carefully dissect what they did or did not do and condemn their decisions. The truth was that Gordy was sick and they did their best to help.
Zola’s name had never been mentioned.
9
The waiting was excruciating. Todd killed time by working a few hours at the bar. Mark and Zola got out of the building and went to see a movie. They flinched every time their phones vibrated, but there was no news about the search. Law school friends were checking in, desperate for updates. Social media was buzzing with the news and gossip. The Post’s online edition was covering the story.
After work, Todd arrived at Zola’s apartment with a six-pack and they ordered a pizza. As they ate, Zola told them about her parents and brother. During the afternoon, they had been taken to an immigrant detention facility in Pennsylvania. Armed ICE agents had given them an hour to pack what little clothing and personal items they could carry, then herded them, handcuffed, along with four others, into a van. Her father had called from the facility, which he described as “little more than a jail.” He had no idea how long they would be kept there before the flight back to Senegal.
Mark and Todd were shocked and angry. The timing was particularly cruel. Zola was distraught and dealing with the suicide of a boyfriend, and now this. They decided to stay together, and at midnight finally fell asleep; Zola in her bed, Mark on the sofa, Todd in a chair beside him.
—
EARLY IN THE morning, as the three sipped coffee and shook off the cobwebs of a hard sleep, they heard voices and movement across the hall. Mark cracked the door and they listened.
Dr. Karvey, Brenda, and the Tanners were in Gordy’s apartment. They found it spotless, with every dish washed and put away, the refrigerator emptied of stale food, not a drop of alcohol anywhere. The den was tidy, its floors clean, and his work space at the dinette table was neatly arranged. His bed was made to perfection. Every stitch of clothing was clean and put away. On his dresser there was a large framed photo of Brenda, one he usually kept in a drawer. In the bathroom, his towels were folded and stacked. The floor, commode, shower, and vanity were practically shining. In his medicine cabinet there was no sign of his pills. They assumed he had gone to great lengths to spiff up the place before checking out.
Brenda broke down once. She sat on the sofa and sobbed as her father rubbed her knee. From across the hall, the three listened in a creepy silence.
The Tanners decided that a quick look around was enough for the moment. They would return later and retrieve his stuff. They locked the apartment and left with Brenda and her father. From a second-floor hall window the three watched them drive away, and felt painfully sorry for them.