She peered through the windshield, her stomach churning at the sight of her house being transformed into a crime scene. Long strands of yellow police tape kept the onlookers at bay, which triggered a wholly incongruous thought in Cindy’s mind. Strangely, it reminded her of the day Jack had asked her to move in with him before they were married. He’d tied yellow ribbons to the dresser handles as a way of marking the drawers that would be hers. If only it were possible to go back to simpler times.
A knock on the passenger-side window startled her. To her relief, it was a police officer. Cindy lowered the window.
“Would you like some coffee?” It was a female officer who spoke with a hint of a Jamaican accent. The voice was mature and confident, which made Cindy realize that this cop wasn’t as young as she looked.
“No, thank you.”
“It’s Starbucks. Still hot.”
“Thanks, but caffeine is the last thing my nerves need right now.”
“I can understand that.” She rested the paper cups on the car hood, reached through the open window, and offered her hand. “I’m Officer Wellens. Call me Glenda.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cindy said as they shook hands.
Glenda glanced casually toward the house and asked, “You know the woman?”
“She was one of my husband’s clients.”
“Wow.”
“Why is that a wow?”
Glenda shrugged and said, “That was just the first thought that popped in my head. Isn’t that what’s going through your head right now? Like, ‘Wow, how did this happen?’”
“My thoughts are more along the lines of, ‘Why did this woman kill herself in my house?’”
“I could give you my two cents’ worth. ‘Course, you’re talking to a woman who’s seen about a million domestic violence calls.”
“What makes you think this has anything to do with domestic violence?”
“Didn’t say it did. It’s just my point of view, that’s all. Gorgeous young woman strips herself naked and slits her wrist in her lawyer’s bathtub. All I’m saying is that I’m trained to think a certain way, so certain thoughts go through my head.”
“Like what?”
She leaned against the car and struck a neighborly pose, as if talking over the kitchen windowsill. “I look at this situation and say, ‘This woman was trying to make a statement.’”
“You mean she left a note?”
“No, honey. Maybe ten percent of the folks who commit suicide actually leave a note. Most of them let the act speak for itself.”
“What kind of statement does this make?”
“I warned you about my point of view, now. You really want to hear what I’m thinking?”
“Yes.”
Glenda narrowed her eyes, and as if she suddenly fancied herself an FBI criminal profiler. “I look at this crime scene, I see a woman who’s obviously at the end of her rope, flipping back and forth between fits of anger and bouts of depression. She can’t take it no more. She’s so wigged out she can’t even express herself in words. So she does this. This is her message.”
“What’s the message?”
“You askin’ my opinion?”
“Yes, your opinion.”
“Something along the lines of: ‘You think this was a fling, sucker? You think I was your little plaything? Well, guess again. I’d rather kill myself in your bathtub than let you and your pretty wife go on living happily ever after as if I never even existed.’”
Cindy looked away. “That’s not what this is.”
“Or, it could be she didn’t want to die.”
“What do you mean?”
“If she really just wanted to off herself, she could have crawled in her own bathtub and slit her wrists. But no. She does it in a place where she knows her lover will find her. She’s maybe played out this fantasy in her mind a hundred times. Her man comes home, finds her on the brink of death, he rushes her to the emergency room. Her hero rescues her. He waits at her bedside all night long at the hospital, clutching her hand, praying for her to come to. He realizes how she doesn’t want to live without him. And he realizes he can’t live without her either.”
“That’s too weird.”
“That’s the real world, sister. Tragic. Lots of people end up killing themselves when what they really wanted was someone to find them in the nick of time and save them.”
“Everything you’re saying is… it all assumes that my husband was having an affair.”
Glenda raised an eyebrow, as if to say, Well, duh!
“That’s not the way it is with Jack and me.”
“I’m glad to hear that. ’Cause to look at this, I surely would have thought otherwise.”
“Jack would never cheat on me.”
“Good for you. My boyfriend’s the same way.”
“Really?”
“’Course. He knows I’d cut his balls off if he did.”
“How romantic.”
Glenda laughed, then took another hit of coffee. She scrunched her face, as if confused, but Cindy was already onto the fact that Glenda was much smarter than she let on. “One thing I was wondering about. The house alarm.”
“What about it?” asked Cindy.
“I notice you have one. But it didn’t go off when that glass on the French door got busted.”
“It wasn’t on.”
“You don’t use your alarm?”
“We only set it when we’re home.”
“How’s that?”
“I’ve had some bad-” She stopped, not wanting to reveal too much of herself and her dreams. “I’ve had some trouble with prowlers in the past. I’m kind of a ‘fraidy cat.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“I’m worse than most. I have the motion sensors turned up so high, all it takes is a strong puff of wind to trigger the sirens. That used to happen all the time when we weren’t home, and the city of Coral Gables ended up socking us with seven hundred bucks in fines for false alarms. Finally Jack said enough. We don’t activate the alarm when we’re not home. If somebody wants our stuff, we have insurance. The only thing we care about is whether someone is trying to break into our house while we’re still inside it.”
“Makes sense, I guess.”
“At a hundred bucks per false alarm, you’d be surprised how many people use their alarms that way.”
“You’re right, I see it all the time. But one other thing makes me curious: How do you suppose Jessie knew that you guys don’t set your alarm while you’re away?”
Cindy thought for a moment, then looked at her and said, “Maybe she thought we had a silent alarm. It could be as you said, she wanted someone to come save her before she died.”
Glenda screwed up her face and said, “Nah, doesn’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Like you said, your husband wasn’t having an affair.”
Cindy didn’t answer.
Glenda finished her coffee. “Then again, maybe we should ask Mr. Swyteck about that. What do you think?”
“I’m not going to tell you how to do your job.”
“Fair enough. Nice talkin’ to you, Mrs. Swyteck.”
“Nice talking to you, too.”
She handed Cindy a business card. “I’m sure you’re right. I’m sure things are just fine and dandy between you and Mr. Swyteck. But just in case there’s something you want to talk out, woman to woman, my home number is on the back. Call me. Anytime.”
“Thank you.”
“You bet.”
They shook hands, and Cindy raised the passenger-side window. She watched from behind tinted glass as Officer Wellens cut through the chaos in the front yard and returned to the scene of the crime.
14
•
It was the most unpleasant evening Jack had ever spent on his patio.
Assistant state attorney Benno Jancowitz was bathed in moonlight, seated on the opposite side of the round, cast-aluminum table. Between his chain-smoking and the burning citronella candle, it was olfactory overload. Yet at times Jack could still almost smell Jessie’s blood in the air, his mind playing tricks on the senses.