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Turned out the whole thing was a pretext. When the cops talked to Simon, he’d explained where his wife was (because she actually had left him! stupid, stupid, stupid ...). Then he must have put two and two together and realized I’d called the cops. And they staged that scene where they took him away.
While I’d been noticing the people next door, Simon had been noticing me. Once the cop got in my apartment and smelled the weed (blast you, Gerald, for insisting he come in!), that gave him the right to search the place. And that’s how they found him.
You see, home funerals are allowed in our state. I’d found a home funeral specialist who was willing to preserve Gerald’s body discreetly. And an autopsy would tell them what they wanted to know. I’d poisoned Gerald with sodium azide. According to a poison expert on the Internet, sodium azide makes it look like the victim has had a heart attack, without leaving the tell-tale signs that cyanide—a similar poison—does. However, the circumstances weren’t good. Keeping my dead husband in a closet would give them plenty of reason to do a careful autopsy and win no points with a prosecutor, judge or jury.
I’d kept Gerald’s body as a reminder of my victory over him. That he couldn’t put me down anymore.
I’d kept him as a reminder that he’d never hit me again.
I’d kept Gerald as a reminder that I alone was in charge of my life.
I heard Gerald laugh, as they tucked me into the back of the patrol car. “Smoke another bowl, sweetheart.”
“Oh, why don’t you just shut the fuck up,” I muttered.
SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL
Roz tilted her head back, blew a smoke ring toward my kitchen ceiling, then ground her cigarette out in the chipped saucer.
“Sounds like he’s stepping out on you.”
“Doing what?”
“He’s cheating on you, Lainie. God, don’t you know anything?” Roz rolled her eyes. “The man works late every night. Someone’s been calling and hanging up when you answer. That adds up to another woman, if you ask me.”
“You think?”
“Yes!” Roz sounded exasperated. “Believe me, I know from experience with Marco.” Roz’s frosted pink lips pursed, as if uttering her ex-husband’s name left a bad taste in her mouth.
I sipped my coffee and thought about it.
With time to kill since I’d been let go by Sartwell Sausages, I’d often invite Roz over for coffee to get her views on my situation with Ed. Call me gullible. And naive. I believed his story about working late. With me unemployed, I figured he worked extra hours to stay in his boss’s good graces. Whenever I tried to discuss our tepid marriage, he cut me off. A couple of times he told me “get off my back.” His refusal to talk had created a wall between us.
Roz isn’t what I’d call a polished woman. We don’t have a lot in common, when you come right down to it. But she does have insights into the human condition, and she has a good heart. I’d hoped Roz would suggest a way to get through to him.
Roz lit her third cigarette and squinted at me through a nicotine cloud. “What should I do?” I asked.
“You ever call his office to check out his story?”
I nodded. “Sure. I’ve called a couple of times and gotten his assistant, Brant. He said Ed wanted all his calls held—even mine. Brant, well ... he doesn’t like me very much. And I don’t care for his attitude.”
Roz’s jaw dropped. “Well, there you go! Brant is obviously protecting Ed. Men!” She spit out the word. “They all fuckin’ stick together. Pardon my French, Lainie.”
I shook my head and threw up my hands. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You gotta get the goods on him, then confront him.”
“How do I do that?”
Roz’s dark eyebrows rose to meet her flaming red hair. “What planet have you been living on? For starters you could figure out if he’s using a Yahoo or Gmail account to contact her. Peek over his shoulder while he’s on the computer. Find out his email address and user name. Of course, you’ll need his password to get into the account. That might take work.” Roz continued to steamroll. “You may be able to get access if he’s dumb enough not to sign off. You wouldn’t believe how often that happens. You’ll want to check his cell phone too.” She jabbed the air with her cigarette and spoke so rapidly it made my head spin. “Knowing Ed, he probably wouldn’t put her number in his cell phone directory. You might look for incoming or outgoing numbers you don’t recognize. Assuming he forgot to delete ‘em.”
“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “This all seems so complicated. And I feel funny about invading his privacy.”
Roz snapped her fingers. “You should hire a PI.”
“A what?”
Roz looked incredulous. “A private investigator. Don’t you know nothin’?”
