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“But you liked Prestalin? He was your buddy?”
“Pres was everyone’s buddy. And his wife, Cheryl, was a total doll. They’re a happy couple, and they’re gonna make a great family.” He stops and shrugs. “I’m not crying about losing them, Detectives. But sure, I liked them.”
“Tell me about your marriage.”
I change the subject as tactfully as a firework being tossed into a mailbox. And like I expected, his eyes narrow and his cheeks redden.
“What about it?”
“Happy?” Fletch questions. “You’re married. Thinking about kids anytime soon?”
I haven’t told Fletch my theories yet, but he still manages to pick up the ball bouncing across this table and works with it.
“Happily married,” Perry grits out. “Seven years in. Misty and I have our rough patches, like all couples do, but we’re strong.”
“Her trip to Tulsa this past week?” I ask. “Planned? Impulsive? You didn’t wanna go?”
“Her sister lives in Tulsa. They’re more than sisters. They’re best friends. Her sister is married, too, and has two kids. She’s been struggling a little with post-partum hormones, so Misty got in the car and headed out.”
“Long drive,” I surmise. “She didn’t want to fly?”
“I don’t get why this is important,” he grinds out in frustration. “Why is the fact that my wife is traveling to see her sister a topic of discussion for us?”
“Just trying to paint a complete picture. Does she always drive, or does she sometimes fly?”
“She’s terrified of flying,” he snarls. “Scared shitless, so when shemust, she dopes herself up and sleeps through it. This is not a common occurrence, and only when I travel with her. The rest of the time, she drives. She buys those chick books and plays it through her speakers for the trip, so she’s pretty happy with the distance.”
“You never worry about her?” Fletch pushes. “That’s, like, twenty something hours on the road.”
“I don’t have to worry about her. She’s smart. Capable.” He glances down at my folder, then up again. “Misty is a good girl, Detectives. A good wife. She can change a tire, and she has no issue telling me when I’m being a dick. I don’t understand why you’re bringing this up today.”
“Alright,” I concede, lowering my chin in acknowledgment. “So tell me: did Misty call you a dick that time you slept with Anna Switzer?”
Perry’s eyes snap wide with stunned surprise—much like Fletch’s would look, I think, if I were to check.
“What?”
“The night of the end of season party. You slept with Anna, just like other members of your team. You didn’t mean to. But you were drinking, and Misty left early. Anna was giving it up, and Dominick was happy to have his dick serviced. Armstrong was having fun with it. Bowie was thrilled, since it’d been a bit of a dry spell for him prior to that.”
“Detectives…”
“The party was in October,” I muse. “I figure Misty found out sometime around December. Because that’s when she went to stay with her sister for an entire month.” I snag the folder in the middle of the table and take out the reports that IT sent over this morning. “She spent Christmas with her sister’s family, and you stayed here.”
Perry stares into my eyes, challenging. But not denying.
“She came home in January. She’d forgiven you, or moved past it. Maybe you guys rekindled things. Whatever was discussed, you both were seemingly committed to sorting things out.”
“Detectives—”
“We have phone records.” I slap my hand over the file and make the man jump in his seat. “You and your wife were on the rocks late last year. She went away to escape. You begged and pleaded with her to come home.”
“Those were personal discussions,” he explodes. He tries to collect himself, but his jaw tenses with each word he delivers. “I understand you have an investigation to run, Detectives. But I never hurt Anna. I swear on my fucking life, I never hurt her. And now, for no reason except spite, you think it’s fun to read my personal texts to my wife?”
“Not for fun,” Fletch murmurs. “It’s always for a good reason.”
“I asked you a simple question, Perry.” I sit back in my chair and wait for him to cool off. To unclench his fists. “Did she call you out for sleeping with Anna last year?”
“Yes.” He snarls the word, but his anger seems almost pointed inward. “Yes, she called me out. She drove to Tulsa and spent Christmas with her sister. Our nephew was due anyway, so she stayed and helped, and all the while, she and I were talking.” He folds his arms and looks anywhere but at us. “She was mad. Understandably so. What I did was wrong, so she had every right to take some time away and think through her next steps.”
