“Jason,” I say, “we really should call the police.”
He runs some water in the bathroom and splashes it on his face. “Shauna, please. I can’t keep having this argument.”
“But the situation keeps getting worse.”
He knows I’m right. Around seven last night, another e-mail arrived in his inbox, with a more ominous tone, calling herself poor Alexa the fucked up girl and then this: I just thought of something that could be seriously bad for you and I want to make sure you’re protected so please call me just for that and nothing else. And then this beauty, from this morning: If you don’t get in touch with me your going to be seriously fucked, complete with the grammar mistake (rare for her, Jason insists) and the apocalyptic conclusion.
Jason dries his face with a towel. “I know,” he says. “But it would kill her. The police show up at her door? Or a restraining order? I already hurt her badly. That would devastate her.”
“This is venturing into Fatal Attraction territory,” I say. “What about you? What about me? Aren’t you the least bit worried? I mean, what about that doctor in Ohio?”
He shakes his head slowly. Alexa, not surprisingly, had an answer for the background research Joel pulled up on her. Jason accepted her side of the story. I can’t deny that a cheating husband, lying to hide his affair, would not be a first. But every phone call Alexa makes to Jason’s cell phone draws me closer to believing the worst about her.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he says, looking at me with a half smile, because he’s giving back to me the very thing I said to him. That was the deal. If Jason needed fresh air, or a drive, or laps in a swimming pool, I’d be there with him. It is turning into a mutual-protection arrangement. “Alexa would never do anything like you’re thinking,” he says. “And if she tried to hurt you, she’d have to get through me first.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
He moans as he leaves the bathroom. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s in pain, but she wouldn’t do something like that. She doesn’t even know we’re together right now. I told her I was alone and outside the city.”
He drops onto my bed with another moan.
“She just needs to get it out of her system,” he says. “Nothing’s going to happen to us.”
Jason’s cell phone rings again. That just brings another moan from his throat.
I walk over to check it-Jason insists one of us check every call to his phone, because even though it’s probably Alexa, it might be-
“Jason,” I say. “It’s an unknown number.”
84
Jason
Monday, July 29
I snatch the phone from Shauna before it goes into voice mail and answer the phone.
“Long time, no see, Jason,” says the man who calls himself James Drinker. “Where you been hiding out?”
“Let’s call it an undisclosed location,” I say.
“I get you, I get you. Hey, you’re probably thinking, as long as I don’t know where you are, I won’t do anything else. Is that what you’re thinking?”
I don’t answer. This guy is always a step ahead, always inside my brain.
“Tell me something. How was that pizza? You seem like a garlic kind of guy.”
“Is that right?” Let him talk. Maybe he’ll give something up.
“I’ll give you credit, my man. That was a close one, over there at Linda’s house. Maybe if your knee was feeling better, you’d have caught me.”
“How do you know I’m not watching you right now?” I ask.
He breathes out of his nose, blurring the connection. “No, I don’t think so. Listen, I just want you to know, your plan isn’t going to work. I don’t care where you are. I’m still going to do whatever I want to do.”
“But how do you frame me, then?” I ask. “How do you know I’m not in Hawaii right now? Or with five people who can verify my alibi?”
He gets a good laugh out of that one. “You really don’t get it,” he says. “That’s okay. You’ll know soon enough, Jason Kolarich. I just want you to know: This next one? This next one is going to be my favorite.”
THE DAY OF ALEXA HIMMEL’S DEATH
Tuesday, July 30
85
Shauna
10:00 A.M.
I open my eyes and roll my head over to my bedside clock and begin with panic-it’s ten! — my brain hardwired for work after two consecutive trials, month after month of seven-day workweeks. It’s a moment before it all returns to me: I’m off today, will probably be off for days, maybe the whole week, maybe the entire time that Jason needs before he goes to some professional clinic.
I rub my eyes and listen. The television is on in the living room, SportsCenter, I think, some animated guy talk. The scent of strong coffee.
It was a long night, like all of them have been since Jason started his recovery. Jason popping awake every couple of hours, hitting the floor for push-ups and sit-ups to combat the nervous energy, the itch, the cravings. Jason at six this morning, fists pumped in the air, Seven hours again! Seven!, celebrating his newfound tolerance, Seven is the new six! I watched him with my eyes half shut, dancing around like Rocky, knowing that in one hour he was going to be doubled over, grimacing from cramps and nausea.
I poke my head out of the bedroom. Jason is back to his exercise, push-ups on the floor. I take a quick shower, towel-dry my hair, and throw on a robe. It feels like a lazy Sunday morning.
When I get back to the living room, Jason is in a T-shirt and shorts, his laptop open on the floor. His eyes meet mine. “Not good,” he says.
“What? Another e-mail?”
He nods, pushes the laptop toward me. I sit down on the floor and read what’s on the screen. It’s a new e-mail from Alexa, sent an hour ago:
Tuesday, July 30, 9:01 AM
Subj: I REALLY wasn’t kidding
From: “Alexa M. Himmel” ‹AMHimmel@Intercast.com›
To: “Jason Kolarich” ‹Kolarich@TaskerKolarich.com›
Hi, there. Hope you’re well. I’m really concerned about the attached letter getting out. Maybe we can put our heads together and figure out how to prevent it. But if you keep ignoring me then I guess there’s nothing i can do. . .
‹ BAD.Letter.pdf ›
“There’s an attachment,” I say, my stomach swimming now.
“There sure is,” he says.
BAD Letter, I think. BAD, in all caps. A special meaning to a lawyer. The document pops up on the screen:
To: The Board of Attorney Discipline
Subject: Jason Kolarich, Attorney ID # 14719251
I am writing to report an attorney named Jason Kolarich, currently practicing at the law firm of Tasker and Kolarich. Jason has become addicted to a painkiller called oxycodone. It has hampered his ability to practice law, I fear to the detriment of his clients. He has lost a good deal of weight, and his behavior has become erratic. I am not a lawyer, so I don’t know if the drugs have stopped him from defending his clients properly. I don’t know if there are rules governing this, but I thought the state’s board that regulates lawyers should know about this.
More than anything, I think a client, before they hire a lawyer, should know if that lawyer is a drug addict.