From the sitting room, I heard the front door open. Justin. I listened to the familiar sounds of him dropping his bag, hanging up his jacket. I looked past my laptop to Ella, sound asleep on the couch next to me. Justin wouldn’t approve of my having let her fall asleep here instead of taking her up to bed. Admittedly, I was our weak link in the sleep department. But I couldn’t bring myself to say good night. I’d needed Ella’s warm little body pressed up against me. I thought about picking her up and hustling for the steps to hide the evidence, but before I could move, I got a text from Erik. Any word on that former student in the hospital?
Police holding her for questioning, I replied. I’ll need official confirmation before I report.
The more I thought about it, the less comfortable I was covering Rose’s part in the story. And that was unlikely to change after I had confirmation she was a suspect. She was probably like so many of those women I had worked on behalf of for years—scared, alone, traumatized. Not thinking clearly. That was something I certainly knew all about. How could I possibly add fuel to the police fire? I wished Stella had never called me, that I’d never met Rose. Especially after what Ella had told me. Had Stella invented the story about Rose’s sexual assault to protect Aidan? It was hard to believe that even Stella could be that good an actress or that calculated.
Hold off mentioning her until we see where it goes, Erik wrote back. We don’t want to jump the gun with something like this.
Okay, I wrote back, glad to be off the hook, but surprised by the sudden caution, at odds with Erik’s usual take-no-prisoners approach. Any idea when you’ll be back?
Soon, I hope. Helping with uncle’s funeral arrangements.
Your uncle?
Yes, elderly. Long illness.
Sorry to hear. My sympathies to your family.
Thx. Be in touch soon.
Nancy had said Erik’s cousin’s house had burned down. Now it was a dead elderly uncle. It was possible Nancy had gotten it wrong. Possible but unlikely. From the beginning, Erik’s abrupt disappearance had been suspicious. Now I felt sure that whatever Erik was doing had nothing to do with a dead uncle or a house fire.
I held a finger to my lips when Justin appeared in the doorway to our small sitting room, then I gestured guiltily toward Ella. He smiled—no hint of the irritation I’d expected—looking especially handsome in the suit he had on. The faculty cocktail party, I’d forgotten all about it. He must have come home to change after I’d seen him at the Black Cat. It was only then that I looked at the clock: almost eleven p.m. I’d gotten so wrapped up in fruitlessly searching for a connection between Rose and Aidan that I’d lost track of time.
There were no photos of Aidan on Rose’s Instagram account (dormant for days) and no mention of Rose on Aidan’s sparse Facebook page, wide open for the world to see with its absence of privacy settings. I’d come across Rose’s raw-food blog, which included mentions of her roommate, Laurie, and a handful of photos of her friends. But no mention of any boyfriend.
Justin motioned for me to follow him toward the kitchen as he loosened his tie. When I’d slid carefully off the couch without waking Ella and made my way to the kitchen, Justin had his back turned. He was pouring two glasses of Scotch, his twice the size of mine.
“Rough day, huh?” I asked.
“Not the best I’ve had.” His voice was low and heavy.
“Want to talk about it?” I asked, crossing the room to him.
“Feels stupid on a day like today,” Justin said, shaking his head and gesturing toward me—the baby they’d found, he meant. “Different university, same old politics. That’s all. Not very interesting.” He took a long swallow of his whiskey, so long that it verged on a gulp.
“Wow, it must be bad.” I pressed my body against Justin’s back, hooking my arms under his. “Come on, talk to me.”
I wanted him to tell me everything. It had been so long since I’d been able to be there for Justin, to listen to his problems, no matter how trivial, relatively speaking. It was nice to think of our marriage regaining the equilibrium I’d once prided myself on.
“It’s just hard to compete when you’re the new kid on the block. Miles Cooper doesn’t have half my publications, but the president of the university was his professor at Yale. And he plays basketball every Wednesday with the dean of students.”
“You could play basketball,” I offered, kissing him on the neck. “You’re good at basketball.”
“I think you’d be a better way to curry favor with Thomas Price,” he said. “He was there tonight. Seems you made quite the impression.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t give you more warning than a text two seconds before. Talking to him was very last-minute.”
Justin turned around to look at me. He smoothed the hair out of my face. “I hope you made Thomas Price uncomfortable under the weight of your incisive questioning.”
“I’m afraid it was all awfully polite.” In retrospect, maybe too polite. I probably should have pressed Price more about how the university handled student complaints, about sexual assaults especially. “And what do you mean, ‘impression’?”
“He found you ‘absolutely charming.’ Those were his exact words—who even talks like that? Anyway, I think he might have a crush on you.”
I felt a rush of juvenile delight. This was what happened when you spent months locked away from the world: you regressed. Briefly, I imagined a scene in which Justin and Thomas Price fought for my affections. I’d end up with Justin, of course. But that was hardly the point.
“Oh, please,” I said. “He was just being polite because I’m married to you.”