When I awake the next morning, there is a void just next to me in bed. I can’t wait for the day when that hole is filled for good. A dam put in place to stop the endless flow of nothingness, all my desires carried in its current. I have decided that regardless of the outcome of the trial, I will divorce Adam when this is all over. I’m going to do what’s best for me, and it’s about goddamn time that I do. If he’s found innocent, he’ll have the opportunity to start his life over—I just won’t be in it.
My phone buzzes and I pick it up. It’s a text from Anne to say that Bob has moved our meeting up to 8:30am.
I text back that I’ll be there. Goddamnit, Bob. I quickly get ready and haul ass into the office. I’m usually in much earlier than 8am, but with my late-night visitor, I got a delayed start this morning. Anne hands me a cup of coffee as soon as the elevator doors open. She looks bright and cheery despite our circumstances. Reporters have been trying to get into the building to interview me and have been calling the office repeatedly. Anne has done a great job of keeping them away.
“Good morning, Sarah. Bob’s already in your office,” she says with a look of pity. I glance at my watch.
“Why? It’s not even 8:15am.”
“I’m not sure. I tried to make him wait, but he insisted. Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. Bob is well… Bob. Hold my calls while I deal with him.”
Bob is staring out my window. At the sound of the door opening, he turns around.
“Nice of you to join me.” He grins.
“You’re fifteen minutes early.” I place my bag on my desk and shuffle around him to get to my seat. “What do you want?” I sit down and start sorting through my papers.
“I want to talk.” He walks to the other side of my desk and sits down.
“We don’t talk, Bob,” I say pursing my lips.
“We do now. I want to know what’s going on with your husband’s case.”
“It’s none of your business, and it’s being taken care of.” I take a sip of my coffee.
“What can I do to help?”
“I don’t need your help and why would you want to help anyway?”
“Because the whole thing is a bad look for the firm. I want it closed and buttoned up nice and neat.”
“I’m handling it.”
“Then why am I getting phone calls from reporters?”
I regroup some papers on the desk. “Well, you’re in charge of PR for the firm, so that’s probably why, Bob. But if you really want to help, I need you—”
I’m cut off mid-sentence from his ringing phone. He puts his finger up and pulls it out. He looks at the number and gives an odd, yet inquisitive look. He answers the call.
“Bob Miller,” he says into the phone. Then he is silent for a few moments. “Wrong number.” He hangs up the phone.
“Reporter?” I ask.
“Something like that.” He pauses. “Now, what were you saying?”
“Since you’re familiar with the reporters in the area. I need you to take care of a Rebecca Sanford.”
“Take care of her how?”
“She’s been interfering with the case, and I need that to stop. Can you handle that?”
“Can I handle that? That’s cute, Sarah. Consider it done.” He laughs. He stands up from his chair. “I’ll be around if you need me.” He walks out of my office.
Anne shuffles in right as Bob leaves. “What was that about?”
“Oh, just Bob being his usual cock(y) self.” I roll my eyes.
“By the way, the phone company just called and confirmed the phone at the lake house is being shut off.”
“That’s great. One less thing I have to worry about,” I say while scanning over a handful of papers.
“Did you find out who Adam was calling?” Anne asks.
“It’s nothing to worry about—everything is taken care of.” And I hope I’m right. Adam better not have interfered with the case. I’m having a hard enough time as it is. Anne nods and leaves my office when the phone on her desk rings. A few moments later, she’s talking to me through the intercom on my desk phone. “Sheriff Stevens is on line one.”
I take the call.
“Nice to hear your voice, Sarah,” he says.
Great, we’re back on a first-name basis. “What can I do for you, Sheriff Stevens?”
“I’m just calling to let you know the DNA results came back on Jesse. He’s not a match.”
Shit. How could it not be him? I was convinced it was him. If not him, then who? Maybe this third set of DNA has nothing to do with the case; maybe it does. But I will never be okay not knowing. I have to figure out what the fuck I’m still missing.
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Now what?”
“Not a whole lot I can do since the case is closed, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for you and let you know if I find or hear anything.”
“Thanks,” I say feeling defeated.
“I’m sorry, Sarah. I know things have been… difficult, but if you need anything, please let me know.”
“Yeah. Thanks, sheriff,” I say, and I hang up the phone. I slam my fist against the desk. I can’t deal with his back-and-forth, wishy-washy thing we have going on. I’m not sure what his angle is. Is he trying to help me or is he trying to help himself? I can’t worry about him though. I’m running out of time, and I’m not any closer to getting the answers I desperately need.
40
Adam Morgan
I spent most of last night drunk dialing, so much so that I have to call some of those numbers again. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t even help myself. Rebecca is supposed to stop over this morning or at least that’s what I remember her telling me last night. I could be wrong though. Regardless, I have five phone calls left to make, and I best do that before she arrives.
I woke up and showered for the first time in days, trimmed up my beard (I decided to keep it), and got dressed in somewhat presentable clothing, jeans, and a T-shirt. There’s a fresh pot of coffee, and I’ve just sat down on the couch with the telephone in front of me.
I dial the first number, and I get the voicemail for a woman who says her name is Gretchen. I cross that number off the list.
I phone the second number and a woman answers. She doesn’t know what I’m talking about. I cross her name off the list.
I dial the third number, and a man picks up. He also has no idea who I’m referring to. He’s a bit rude and hangs up on me.
The fourth number is an old man who has a hard time speaking. He sounds like he has had a laryngectomy. I hang up on him as he tries to tell me his life story. He’s old and lonely, and it sounds like he’s in the same boat as me—we don’t have enough time.
The fifth and last number answers on nearly the first ring. He answers so fast that I miss his name—I’m thinking Rob. But I can’t be sure. Since I don’t pick up what he says, I immediately go into explaining.
“Hi. I’m looking for Nicholas Miller. He’s the brother of Greg Miller and brother-in-law to Kelly Summers. My name is Adam Morgan. I desperately need to speak with Nicholas. It’s a matter of life or death,” I say. This is my last call. I hope to God this person knows him. If not, Rebecca didn’t get me all the names, or I fucked up when I was drinking and dialing. God. I’m such an idiot. I’m out of breath. I’ve broken out in a sweat.