Laurie looks at them again. It can’t be because she doesn’t know who he is, he concludes, but for some other reason. Maybe because she longs to go back to that moment when they were taken?
“The thing is, Mrs. Davis,” Grande adds. “You’ve been going on and on in here, telling us how you suspected your husband of having an affair, and this, to me, looks like you’re the unfaithful one. It doesn’t take a detective to conclude that from these pictures here—where you’re kissing one another. And if you look closer, it becomes pretty obvious that he was with you in the cabin. Our technicians also say they found a lock of hair in the bed, black hair, and as far as we were told, your husband is bald.”
Laurie Davis closes her eyes briefly and nods.
“Why have you been lying to us?” Grande asks.
She smiles. “I haven’t. I was getting to this part.”
“So, who is he?” Grande asks.
Laurie sighs and leans back on her pillow. “That is Frank.”
Jonathan lifts his head and looks at her. “As in Vera’s brother? The guy who works at the military forensic lab?”
She nods. “Yes, that’s him.”
At this point, I feel like an awful mother and an even worse wife. Ryan hasn’t been home for three days, not since I asked him if he had an affair with Sandra, and I am about to lose it. My kids are angry at me; they think I drove him away—that he is not coming back because of me, and I am beginning to think they’re right. My husband is a combat-wounded and highly-decorated war veteran, and yet I can’t seem to honor him with something as simple as trust.
I again fear he has killed himself. Do you know what it is like when they’re away? When they’re deployed? You’re constantly worried, terrified. You feel sick from morning till evening—when the phone rings—if someone comes to your door, you want to throw up. Your stomach crumbles. All the time, you wait for that message, you wonder how they’ll say it and imagine how their eyes will look. Will you even hear what they say? Will you be able to hear the words?
Then, finally, when they do come home, you think it’s all over. Everything will be fine now; the hard part is done. But no.
I am not a model wife. I know I’m not. And I never will be. I get angry. I get frustrated. I yell at the kids and then at him when he doesn’t help or when he doesn’t show up. To be honest, it was probably easier when he was away. We had our routines. I knew I was alone in handling everything. There was no question as to who did what; I had to do everything. Now that he was back, I expected him to help, to be there. And those expectations weren’t fulfilled. I was disappointed. Did I drive him to run away? Was it because of me and the pressure I put on him that he couldn’t bear staying under the same roof with his own family? That his children had to miss their dad and feel abandoned? Is it because of me that they will have to wonder if they weren’t enough for the rest of their lives? No matter how much I love him, it’s not enough. It’s never enough for him.
Now, I worry even more than before because I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. Is he in so much pain that he wants to end it all like Sandra? None of us knew what she went through because she hid it well.
So, yes, I call Frank. I don’t know where else to turn. Vera is in training to become a pilot, so she’s gone a lot of the time. My parents have taken a trip to Georgia to visit old friends. I am all alone at the base—just me and the kids, and I am in pain. I am so scared. I call Frank and ask him to meet me. I tell him I want to talk about his sister, about Clarice, that I might be doing a story on her since I kind of promised their parents I would. Damian is at home with a cold, and Frank tells me he’ll stop by. As I shower and put on makeup, I wonder why I am doing this. Am I trying to punish Ryan? Am I hoping he’ll hear about Frank’s visit and get jealous? Perhaps. Or maybe I just really want to tell Clarice’s story and help her poor parents. Either way, I am getting myself dressed up real nice. As I wait for him, I keep checking myself in the mirror.
Chapter 17
We sit in our kitchen. I have made a light lunch for us, a salad that I barely eat any of myself. I don’t want to get anything stuck in my teeth. I want him to find me attractive because I am angry with Ryan. Does that make any sense?
I’m not sure it does to me.
But I do have the feeling that I am heading for disaster.
He eats and smiles, then leans forward, placing his elbows on the table, getting closer to me. He’s eight years younger than me, and I don’t understand why he is interested in me at all.
“So, you don’t think Clarice committed suicide either?” I ask, pulling away and trying to stay on subject. I feel guilty already, even though I haven’t done anything wrong. I can’t stop thinking about Ryan and worrying that he’ll get hurt. I immediately regret having invited Frank over. Luckily, Damian is in his room, playing on his computer. There’s no chance he’ll be down unless we lose wi-fi for some reason.
Frank shakes his head. “I saw the autopsy. She was bruised.”
“Your parents said she had a broken nose?” I ask.
He nods. “And a lot more.”
“What does that mean?”
Frank sighs. His expression grows serious. I can tell he’s heartbroken over losing his sister. Talking about it doesn’t come easy. I realize at this instant that I care for him more than I thought. Seeing him like this hurts me deeply, and I reach over and grab his hand in mine.
Our eyes meet.
“There were things I never told my parents,” he says, then pauses. “Because I don’t think they could have handled it. She was…in the autopsy…it showed there were signs that she…”
He pauses again to breathe. I get a feeling I know what is coming and prepare myself for it.
“She was…raped?” I ask.
He looks up, then nods. “There were teeth marks on her shoulder and mutilation of her…you know.”
“Mutilation?”
“Someone had poured acid on her private parts. It’s not unusual in rape cases, to remove any DNA. But the signs weren’t conclusive enough, the report said. The investigators decided it wasn’t important. There was also a trail of blood indicating her body had been dragged across the ground, but that too was deemed inconclusive and never considered in the conclusion. The Air Force keeps telling us it was suicide.”
I lean back in my chair, my heart quickening. You don’t have to be a former reporter to realize that there is a story there somewhere, a great one, an important one. But I don’t work anymore and have no outlet for it.
“There’s more,” he says.
I clear my throat, pushing back the dreadful feeling his information has left me with. How much does Ryan know about this, I wonder. How much does he know about what happened to Clarice? Does he know who raped her, and is he covering for this person? Are all of them? Is that what caused Sandra to kill herself? Because she knew and didn’t tell?
Is that what is bothering Ryan?
“And that is?”
“Clarice wasn’t very liked by her colleagues.”
“I heard she wanted to complain about their interrogation methods?” I ask.