“You lied to me.” He tucked the screwdriver in his pocket, dropped to the edge of the table, and stepped to the floor.
“I know. And I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t. I didn’t think anything like this would ever happen. How could I know?” Her eyes pleading. “I’ll tell you everything, answer any question you like, but right now we have to talk about the police.”
Tom looked away. “What about? We tell them the truth.”
“We can’t.”
He snorted. Gripped the edge of the table with one hand, began to pull it back where it belonged.
“Tom, listen to me. Would you just-” She grabbed the other side, pulling away from him. “Just stop.”
He yanked harder, and she braced herself to resist. The table came off the ground, wavered back and forth. He glared, and she glared back. All of it spilled out between them, the lies, the pressure, the slow tectonic shifts of their relationship exploding in a tug-of-war over a table.
Then a buzzer sounded, loud and insistent. The doorbell from downstairs. The police.
He dropped his side, started for the hallway, where the intercom would open the downstairs door. She was closer, hurried to block the hallway. “Just listen for a second, okay?”
“Get out of the way, Anna.”
“Listen.” She spat the word, then took a breath. “There is no way to tell the cops why that guy was here without telling them about the money. No way at all.”
“I don’t care.” He started to push past her.
She put an arm against either side of the hall to block him. “Damn it, think!” Her eyes pleading. “Later, we can talk all we want. We can figure out what to do, you can be pissed at me – I don’t blame you – but right this second there are cops coming to our door, and we need to be together.”
“Why?”
The buzzer sounded angrily and long.
“Because if we tell the truth we’re going to jail.” She raised her eyebrows. “We stole that money. We’ve spent a lot of it. We’ve lied to the police.”
“Better that than face Jack Witkowski again.” He pushed past, shouldering through her arm easily. Two steps took him to the intercom.
Her voice came from behind him. “How do you know his name?”
He froze, thumb on the button to open the door.
“Tom? He wouldn’t have told you that.”
He opened his mouth. Shut it again. There was no time to explain, to tell her that the things he had kept from her were different, that he had done it for the good of both of them, that he had only been trying to-
To protect her.
He felt the anger deflate. The buzzer sounded again. He turned to face her, then said, “Okay. We get through this. Then you and I need to talk.”
The look she gave him was scared and wounded and sweet all at once. It was like watching something beautiful break.
He took a breath. Pushed the intercom and said, in as calm a voice as he could manage, “Yes? Who is it?”
ANNA WAS GETTING USED to lying to the police.
After Tom had buzzed them up, she’d barely had time to wipe away the blood in the hallway before opening the door and smoothing her expression as if she were icing a cake. Listened to the heavy tromp of their feet. One cop had his gun held at his side, which startled her. “Officer, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.” She shook her head ruefully. “We just got the alarm, and I’m not used to it yet.”
“Is this your house, ma’am?” The first cop was a baby-faced blond; behind him stood a tall officer with a graying crewcut.
“Yes. We just came in, and I punched the wrong code.” She gave him what she hoped was an embarrassed smile. “They taught us about the panic code, but I wasn’t thinking and misdialed. The alarm shut off, so…”
The older cop relaxed, but the first said, “Do you mind if I look around?”
“Why?”
“The point of the panic code is that someone might force you to shut off your alarm.”
“Officer, I promise, it’s just my husband and me.”
“Still, ma’am, I’m going to need to confirm that.”
She hesitated, then shrugged, opened the door wide.
“Thank you.” The blond officer moved with his gun out, playing at Serpico. Anna slid aside to make room as he swept down the hall. The older cop stepped in casually, hooked his thumbs in his belt and shrugged at her, as if to say, Kids. Anna forced a smile back. “I’m Anna Reed.”
“Sergeant Peter Bradley.” He glanced around the living room. “Nice place.” It was at that moment that she remembered the bullet hole in the ceiling. She started to look up, caught herself, looked down instead, and saw a brass cylinder, shit, part of the bullet, that part that got ejected from the gun. It lay on the hardwood floor three inches from Bradley’s left foot. She coughed, then said, “Thanks. Can I get you guys some coffee?”
“That’s all right, ma’am.” He rocked back on his heels, watery eyes calmly taking in the room. Anna found herself wondering about him, imagining his life: an ex-wife, two kids, child support that had him picking up extra shifts working security at a strip club. Strange, random thoughts. The cop shuffled his feet, and she said a silent prayer he wouldn’t kick the bullet.
Tom came out of the bathroom. He’d washed his face and brushed his hair, and held his left hand behind his back, standing like a politician about to deliver a speech. He smiled, said, “Really sorry about this, Officer.”
“Happens all the time.”
They heard the younger cop from down the hall, barking that the bedroom was clear. Bradley shook his head, called down the hall, “Why don’t we get out of here, let these folks get on about their day?”
“But, Sergeant, I’m supposed to check-”
“It’s all right, son.” Bradley keyed his radio, said, “It’s a false. Dialed the wrong code.”
Anna slipped her arm around Tom’s waist. “You sure we can’t get you anything?”
The blond cop, his gun now holstered, said, “Would you mind if I used your lavatory?”
She felt the muscles in her smile tighten. She wanted to scream, Get out get out get Out! Instead she said, “Of course, Officer.”
She stood and willed herself to keep her eyes level, not to glance at either the ceiling or the floor. Reminded herself that these guys were just regular cops, not detectives, not people who knew what had happened in the last week. “I really do feel stupid. You guys must have better things to do.”
“We were in the neighborhood.” Bradley cleared his throat. “Your security company will bill you for the false alarm, though.”
“Really?”
“Probably about two hundred.” The cop shrugged. “It’s steep, I know, but that’s how they do it.”
“That’s okay, Officer,” Anna said, remembering Jack sprinting out the back door. “I don’t mind at all.” She heard the toilet flush, the hiss of the sink, and then the other guy came down the hall, belt heavy with gear. As the two turned to go, the corner of the sergeant’s boot caught the edge of the shell casing and set it spinning. She moved fast, stepping forward to silence it with a foot, her smile never wavering.
When the door closed behind them, Tom said, “Where’s the money?”
“In the car.”
His mouth fell open. “You left three hundred grand in the car?”
“I was going to put it at Sara’s, but I thought…” She shrugged, feeling stupid. “I don’t know. I didn’t really think it through. I wasn’t trying to steal it, like I said. But once I took it out, putting it back didn’t make any sense. I was going to get a safe-deposit box, but with my job, everything.” She shrugged again.
Tom closed his eyes, rubbed his forehead hard. “Okay.” He held his left hand in his right. Winced.
“You should get that looked at.”
“We’ll hit a drugstore on our way.”
“On our way where?”