The Girl From Home: A Thriller (33 page)

There's an awkward silence, the small talk having run its course. “Well, you two enjoy your dinner,” Jonathan says.

“So that was the famous Natasha,” Jackie says after Natasha and Harrison have left them.

“The one and only.”

“She seems to have landed on her feet. Nothing like finding a partner to pick up the slack, right?”

Jonathan feels as if the comment is directed at him as much as it is about Natasha. He wishes he knew Jackie's tells better. If he did, he might be able to discern whether she's made the point to remind him that he has a lot to lose if she goes to jail.

J
onathan has an uneasy sleep. Alone in his childhood bed, he can't stop the endless loop playing in his head. Jackie giving him up to the police, Natasha laughing at what a sap he turned out to be in the end, the clank of a jail cell locking as he yells out protestations of innocence.

The flashing colors wake him. Jonathan knows almost immediately that they're police lights, even if he can't hear any sirens. At first he thinks it's part of a dream, but as his head clears he knows the truth. It's all too real.

When the police came the last time, it was in a single, unmarked car. The unmarked car has returned, but the addition of a police cruiser must mean that they're not here just to talk.

They've come to arrest him.

Jonathan's phone is on his night table. He thinks first about calling Jackie, but decides better of it. For all he knows, she's the reason the cops are here.

It's too early to call Alex Miller, so he texts his lawyer.

Being arrested in EC. Help!

By now the knocking on the door is growing louder. “Police. Open up.”

Jonathan quickly realizes that if he doesn't answer the door, the police are going to kick it in. So he throws on his father's robe and heads downstairs to face the music.

*  *  *

Jackie hadn't been able to sleep. All night her mind raced with the parade of horribles she saw as her future: being strapped down about to receive a lethal injection, or alone in a jail cell.

After her kids leave for school, she decides to try to burn off her anxious energy by going for a run. She jogs what she considers her shorter route, a four-mile loop through her neighborhood, which is referred to as the Revolution section due to the fact that the streets are so named thematically. Her run takes her down Constitution, up Bunker Hill, through a long stretch of Washington, and concludes at the dead-end part of Yorktown. From there she walks back the half mile during her cooldown phase.

She first sees the lights flashing in her driveway as she makes the turn back on Redcoat. She thinks about turning around but knows that would be pointless. They've already spotted her. When she reaches her driveway, she sees Detective Martin standing beside his car. Without saying good morning, he tells Jackie that she's under arrest for the murder of Richard Williams.

*  *  *

The police cruiser pulls up to the back entrance of the station. On the door is a green sign with white lettering:
POLICE PERSONNEL ONLY
. When the doors open, Jonathan is pulled past three cells. None of them is occupied, but Jonathan assumes he's going to see the inside soon enough.

The police allowed Jonathan to change out of his pajamas, so for his perp walk into the East Carlisle Police Department, he's attired in the same ensemble he donned for the reunion: Brioni suit, white shirt, Gucci loafers. As a result, he looks far more like a lawyer than a defendant.

Jonathan searches about for some glimpse of Jackie, but she's nowhere to be found. He again wonders whether she's already given him up. Could it be that it was her statement that he killed Rick that prompted his arrest? That she's snuggled softly in her bed while he faces punishment for a murder she committed?

The cops put him in an interrogation room that's much smaller than the ones he's seen on television. A small metal table is pushed against one wall and three metal chairs surround it. There isn't a one-way mirror, but Jonathan sees a video camera hanging from the corner of the room.

The uniformed cop who read him his rights in the squad car removes Jonathan's handcuffs. He can't be any older than twenty-five. The kind of kid Jonathan terrorized on the trading floor in his former life.

“You're going to be here for a little while,” the cop says. “So you should make yourself comfortable. The door's locked from the outside, FYI.”

Jonathan was relieved of his phone upon entry, so he has no idea of the amount of time that's elapsed, but it seems like he's already been incarcerated for at least an hour. He's tried to stay focused on the fact that this part will be over soon, even though he knows that what awaits him is even more distressing.

When the door finally opens, two men enter the room. Jonathan recognizes them from the visit they paid him two days earlier. He can't recall the younger cop's name, but he remembers the mustache is McGeorge.

“Mr. Caine, as you may remember, my name is Detective McGeorge, and my partner is Detective Swensen.”

“Yes, of course,” Jonathan says.

Detective McGeorge takes a seat beside Jonathan. He taps the metal table twice with the wedding band on his finger, as if it's a gavel and he's calling the meeting to order.

“Well, we have ourselves a bit of a situation here,” Detective McGeorge says with a heavy voice. “We've spoken to the Acting DA, and based on the evidence we've already collected, she'd like to try you and Mrs. Williams together, as co-conspirators in her husband's murder. I can't say that I blame her for going that way. What went down here, it's pretty cold-blooded, if you ask me. And I'll tell you another thing. We've arrested this guy Ariel Kishon.” Detective McGeorge mispronounces the name—making it sound like the Disney mermaid—but Jonathan assumes that the proper pronunciation is R-E-L, like the former Israeli Defense Minister, Ariel Sharon. “He's a smart guy, for a hit man, I mean. Smart enough to be cooperating with us as much as he can to save his own ass. He's already signed a confession admitting that he ran down Rick Williams. Also admitted he was paid ten grand to do it. Whatever we want, he's giving us. But some guys have all the luck, and you, my friend, must have been born under a lucky star, because Kishon can't tell us who hired him, you or your girlfriend. Not yet, anyway. And that means you got a chance to help yourself, although that window will close real fast. So my advice to you is that you tell us what happened here and do it right now.”

Detective McGeorge stops short, undoubtedly hoping that Jonathan will blurt out a confession. Jonathan stays mute.

“Look, you seem like a really smart guy, Mr. Caine,” Detective McGeorge says. “So I assume that you're very familiar with the concept of supply and demand. The way it works here is that the first one who tells us what happened gets a deal. The other one gets to die in prison. Question for you is: Which one do you want to be?”

Jonathan anticipated something along the lines of Detective McGeorge's little monologue, although truth be told, not quite so over-the-top. Jonathan's one and only takeaway from it is that Jackie hasn't turned. At least, not yet. She must have been arrested, too, and is being held somewhere else.

Detective McGeorge stares hard at Jonathan, as if his gaze alone can force Jonathan to confess. Jonathan has been stared down before, so he finds it's rather easy to stare right back.

“You like movies, Mr. Caine?” Detective McGeorge finally says, breaking into a smile.

Jonathan decides there can't be any harm in admitting that. “Sure. Who doesn't?”

“You remember a movie . . . God, I'm old, because it came out a long time ago. It was called
Body Heat
? Young Kathleen Turner. Back when she was hot? Man. And the guy . . . John Hurt.”

“William,” Jonathan says.

“What?”

“The guy in
Body Heat
. It was William Hurt. John Hurt was the Elephant Man.”

Detective McGeorge chuckles. Looking at his partner, he says, “What do you know? This guy really does like movies.” Then, turning back to Jonathan: “Okay, so
William
Hurt plays this lawyer, and Kathleen Turner, she gets him to kill her husband. The poor schmuck thinks that they're going to live happily ever after, but she double-crosses him. He ends up rotting in jail, and if I remember correctly, the movie ends with her on a beach somewhere sipping a drink with one of those little umbrellas in it.”

“That could very well be the play here,” Detective Swensen chimes in. “In fact, it wouldn't surprise me one bit if your girlfriend is spinning it that way. We already know her husband beat her, and so no one could blame her for wanting him dead. And honestly, no one would blame you one bit if she got you to do it. If that's what happened . . . well, the weight of it falls on her and not you. And it really wouldn't even be so bad for her. I mean, spousal abuse is a great defense. All that post-traumatic-stress stuff. Juries eat that shit up. The important thing is that you not let her play you for a chump. If she killed her sack-of-shit of a husband, there's no reason for you to rot in jail for it like that guy in the movie. Am I right?”

After his partner's speech, Detective McGeorge looks at Jonathan hopefully, as if they might go out for a beer as soon as Jonathan explains that yes, he did indeed murder Rick Williams because Jackie asked him to. If this is police interrogation at its finest, Jonathan can't believe that anybody ever confesses to anything.

“I'd like to call my lawyer,” Jonathan says.

And poof, Detective McGeorge's smile is now a million miles away. He looks as if he'd like nothing more than to beat the crap out of Jonathan.

“I'm so happy you said that. I really am,” he says.

His expression belies the words. The last thing Detective McGeorge looks to be is happy.

Detective McGeorge slowly rises. Once he's upright, he leans over until his face is right against Jonathan's, as if they're an umpire and a manager arguing over a called third strike. Jonathan can smell the reek of coffee breath.

“I saw your girlfriend when she came in,” Detective McGeorge continues, “and I was thinking to myself, I hope he's stupid enough to ask for a lawyer because that'll mean he's going to go down for this. Your girlfriend, she didn't strike me as the murdering type. But you? Oh, I'm betting
you
pushed
her
into it. You see, I was a little worried that you'd be the one to cut the deal with us, but it looks like it's going to end up just like it should. She's gonna turn on you, and be out soon, and you'll be bending over daily while some fucking animal in Rahway makes you his bitch.”

In the last few seconds Jonathan has developed a deep-seated hatred for Detective McGeorge. Jonathan knows better than to say anything, though. He lets his stare indicate what he thinks.

The silence is broken by a sharp knock on the door.

“Ah. You know what that means?” Detective McGeorge says, the smile back again and stretching his mustache out across his face.

Jonathan doesn't reply. Detective McGeorge, however, is all too happy to answer his own question.

“It means your girlfriend just gave you up, asshole.”

*  *  *

Jackie can't deny she's scared to death. It takes all her focus not to shake.

“I really wish it didn't happen like this, Mrs. Williams,” Detective Martin says, like he's seen this mistake a hundred times, and it pains him at every turn.

They're in a dingy interrogation room with a small metal table and three chairs the only furniture. The female FBI agent, Murray, sits in the center seat, Jackie to her left, Detective Martin to her right.

“I was really hoping that you were going to tell us the truth when we talked the other day,” Detective Martin continues. “We were prepared to give you a complete pass if you'd told us that Mr. Caine set it all up, and that would have been that. And believe me . . . I get it. You want to protect him, and you think that he's going to protect you, but that kind of thinking is only going to land you in jail for the rest of your life.”

Jackie can't believe that there's any silver lining to her predicament, but then it dawns on her that she's been arrested by the East Carlisle police, which means it's not a death penalty case. Detective Martin just said as much. If she's convicted of the crime, she's not going to be put to death. The worst that will happen is that she'll spend the rest of her life in jail. Hardly a cause for jubilation, but still.

Agent Murray pours a cup of water from the small plastic pitcher sitting on the corner of the table and delivers it to Jackie. Jackie's hand shakes as she receives it.

“Jackie, we have all been there,” Agent Murray says in a soft voice. “Trusting a man who then turns around and betrays that trust. But you've got to keep your eye on what really matters here. Your kids. As mothers, we always say that we'll do anything for our kids. Well, this is one of those times when that's put to the test. You have to choose between your kids and your boyfriend, and . . . I'm sorry, but that's actually not really such a tough choice at all. Not for a mom.”

“Where are my kids now?” Jackie asks. She's trying her best to sound composed, but even she can hear the fear in her voice.

“At the moment, of course, they're still both in school,” Detective Martin says. “Your son is eighteen, so he's free to stay at your house. But your younger one, we can't leave her with your son because he isn't over twenty-one, and so unless other arrangements are made, an officer is going to pick her up at school and bring her here.”

“She's sixteen,” Jackie says. “She can stay in the house alone. And she won't even be alone. Robert will be there with her.”

“I'm sorry. That's protocol. Now, depending on what you tell us, you'll either be sent back home to be with your children—maybe even before school lets out—or you'll be put through processing—mug shot, fingerprints, the whole nine yards—and then you'll go to lockup while you await arraignment. This is a murder case, and so I'm certain the DA is going to ask that you be held without bail, and if the judge agrees, then you're going to be our guest for the foreseeable future. Which means that unless someone over twenty-one takes responsibility for your daughter, she's going to be put in the system, too. Child Protection and Permanency.”