He sat down to his drawing board. He was not going to lose his work over Leigh, over the past. The museum design needed tweaking. Then he would design Antoniou a mansion that would go straight into Architectural Digest or heck, even Granta. He would show all the bastards the true meaning of original.
10
D ownstairs at home that night, while studying blueprints, the cassette burning a hole in his workbench, Ray heard thumping on the door. Ray peered at the large LCD screen in the corner of the basement that showed his front door. Two uniformed police officers stood out there, starched, laden with radios and holsters and clipboards and God knew what else. Behind them he saw a police car, red light spinning.
Walking toward the front door, Ray felt hot fear that flared through him like a sparkler, making his legs move slowly, painfully. Maybe everyone dreamed this moment, a moment when the jig was up. Didn’t everyone suffer from some guilty secrets and fear being found out? Had they talked with the kids, somehow identifying him as an intruder? Or was this about Leigh?
Ray shook his head, wishing the mixed-up disarray in his mind would clear up enough so that he could see his way down the hallway, through the door, and beyond, into the future. “What is it?” he asked the two men.
“Raymond Jackson?”
“Yes.”
“You work at Wilshire Associates?”
“I’m a partner, yes.” He asked for their identification, which they provided: Walter Rappaport, police lieutenant, robbery/homicide, a big man with bags flowery as broccoli under his eyes and a leery attitude; and Rick Buzas, police officer II, field training office, unlined and complacent.
“Nice house,” said Officer Buzas, younger, smaller, standing slightly behind the lieutenant. His fresh skin shone in the porch light. “Big. Bet you have a great view.” On this soft moonless night he was looking around at the landscaping, sniffing at the jasmine along the steps.
“What can I do for you?”
The big guy in front butted in. “Can we come in? We have a few questions.”
Ray closed the front door behind him and stepped outside to face them. “No. Sorry.” Ray didn’t want them in his house. He didn’t want them on his porch, either. He recalled a salient fact. The police had no obligation to tell the truth while discovering the truth. What a skewed world. He should be very careful. He didn’t want to get them interested in his business any more than they already were. “Now, could you please tell me why you are here?”
“You know a man named James Hubbel? A deputy sheriff for the County of Los Angeles.”
“Mr. Hubbel is my father-in-law.”
“He’s concerned about his daughter. He got in touch with my sergeant. Thought I’d come out and make sure she’s okay. Is she here?”
“No.”
“No? Where is your wife, Mr. Jackson?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“You can’t? Why can’t you?”
“I don’t know where she is. She left me. Never said where she was going. Has Mr. Hubbel filed some kind of complaint against me? Is there a missing persons case?”
Rappaport’s big ears seemed to move back like a dog’s.
“How long ago?” he asked.
“Five days now.”
“So you’re all choked up about this, huh?” asked Officer Buzas.
Ray stared at him. Rappaport coughed, eyeing Ray almost apologetically, as if he too was disturbed by Buzas’s bluntness.
If they had a warrant, they would have pushed him aside and would be searching his home right now. Ergo, this was an exploratory visit, the first aside from that unofficial one from Leigh’s father, and not entirely unexpected.
He said, “I understand Mr. Hubbel’s concern, and I wish my wife would call her folks and say she’s okay. But isn’t it fairly common, spouses separating? One leaving the home? Not telling her husband where she’s gone to get her life together or whatever? I mean, she’s a grown woman. She can go where she wants, can’t she?” He couldn’t keep anxiety from creeping into his voice.
“Where would she go?” asked Rappaport.
The ultimate question they had come to ask. Ray scratched beside his mouth with a sharp fingernail. “No idea.”
“When did you last see her?” asked Buzas.
“Late Friday night, as I said. We had some painful things to discuss. She”-he thought back to that night, struggling against emotion-“walked out. She didn’t tell me where she would go.”
“What time was this?” Only now did Ray realize that Officer Buzas was taking notes.
“About nine. I don’t know. Maybe ten.”
“What did she take with her?”
He thought. “A flowered carpetbag she uses for overnight trips. She must have packed that. Some jewelry, I noticed later. Underwear, I assume. Some of her toiletries are missing from the bathroom.”
“I would have tried to stop her,” Officer Buzas said, looking at his partner.
Ray said nothing.
“What was the subject of this fight?” Rappaport asked.
“I didn’t say we fought.”
“Okay. What painful things did you discuss?”
“Obviously, it was about problems in our marriage.”
“You seeing someone else, Mr. Jackson?”
“No, no.”
“What about her?”
“We were just-I’ve been working hard, and she was upset.”
“What have you done to try to make contact with her?”
“Nothing. I think she just wants to have a few days to herself, to cool off.”
“She hasn’t contacted her workplace for three days running,” Rappaport said. “Mr. Jackson, do you want us to find your wife? Because you’re acting mighty strange, if you do.”
“Look, check me out. I’ve never been arrested, never done anything. I’m not a drug addict or alcoholic. I’m just a man whose wife left him.”
“After a violent fight.”
“I never said we were violent.”
“How long did this fight go on? You have these fights often?”
“It wasn’t a fight! It was just-” He stopped, his mouth open, then said, “Look, is this a missing persons case?”
“Like I said, we’re doing a welfare check.”
“An informal welfare check because her father’s a cop. I understand.” Informal because this isn’t your case yet, Ray thought.
“You could make it a missing persons case. The father, he knows she’s an adult; it’s been a few days, he’s worried, but we can’t open a case based on that. But if you come down to the Topanga station and say your wife has disappeared, we’ll find her for you.”
“I’m not sure I want to do that. She said she was leaving me and she left. She doesn’t want to talk to me right now; that’s clear.”
“You want her back?” Officer Buzas said. Ray didn’t like the way he leaned against the door frame, looking like he didn’t believe a word Ray was saying.
“I love her, if that’s what you want to know,” Ray said. “I hope when she comes back, that we will be able to work through our problems. I’m afraid to track her down and drag her back when that’s not what she wants right now. I’m not sure what to do.”
“You don’t want us even to check on her welfare?”
“I didn’t say that. Look, I just don’t feel I can help right now, but I will definitely ask for your help if she is gone much longer.”
“Deputy Hubbel doesn’t believe his daughter would leave of her own free will and not contact her mother even once.”
“It’s only been five days, detectives.” Ray felt very tired. He wanted to be cooperative, but what could he tell them? That they had been fighting over Martin? Wouldn’t that make them even more suspicious?
Suddenly he felt the full enormity of his situation. It was like getting knocked down into a dark well, nobody else there, just him, the deep cold water, and slick, black walls he could never climb. These men weren’t here to conduct a little question-and-answer session. They suspected him of hurting his wife.