He’ll tell them I am crazy, that I was slowly losing my mind. He saw it coming long before it happened. That there was nothing anyone could have done. I was depressed.
I can even hear him saying the words to my family and my children. And they believe him. Of course, they do. Ryan can be very persuasive when he wants to.
I shake my head and fold the towels I had left in the dryer from the day before when I hear the door slam shut and hear him enter the house. He is panting heavily, and so am I as I wonder how this is ever going to end well.
Chapter 24
It takes me a week to get the courage to go to the U.S. Air Force Office of Special Investigations. It’s the federal law enforcement and counterintelligence agency for the United States Air Force and United States Space Force. This is where they investigate criminal activities that happen on base.
But even on the day I finally decide to go, I keep losing my nerve. I turn the car around at least three times and am on my way back home, but eventually, I end up parking outside the tall beige building. I take a few deep breaths, telling myself it’s the right thing to do, that I am not going to destroy my family, even though I know that’s exactly what will happen. I say this over and over again and walk inside and ask to speak to Investigator Rick Thibodeau. I remember him from when Sandra died, and I like him. I have a feeling he will understand my story and forgive me for not coming in earlier.
Rick Thibodeau comes out to greet me. He’s a tall man with light blue eyes, who looks like he works out a lot, which he probably does. He’s also very young, and I wonder if he has solved many cases if any. I worry that it’s not often these people are involved in murder investigations.
“Mrs. Davis?” he says and holds out his hand. I shake it nervously. “I’m surprised to see you here? How can I help you?”
“I’d like to talk to you somewhere private,” I say. “It’s kind of a delicate matter.”
He smiles curiously. “Of course. No problem. Come with me.”
We walk down a hallway, and as we pass other men in uniforms, I lower my eyes, worrying they might be friends with Ryan. There are only about fifteen-thousand people on base, and only around four-thousand of those are active military personnel; the rest are contractors or medical personnel, or children and spouses, like me.
Rick takes me into an office and closes the door, then points at a chair.
“Go ahead.”
I sit down. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I am terrified and want to run away, but it’s too late now. I have to do this. I have to get it off my chest, even though it’ll cost me dearly. Frank convinced me to let Vera in on it as well, so I have. I told her everything during a lunch this past week. She too encouraged me to go to the OSI, and to be honest, it was probably her words that finally made me go.
“You at least have to do it for your own conscience. You can’t live with yourself knowing this. What if he is a murderer? What if he killed those two people? Can you live with him, knowing he got away with it? Knowing he is still free because of you? Because you didn’t tell?”
Of course, I can’t. Any way I look at it, this is the only solution that makes any sense even if it hurts. Even if it is devastating to go behind my husband’s back like this. I feel like I am betraying him. It’s the worst feeling in the world.
“Coffee?” Rick Thibodeau asks, and I shake my head. I’ve had three cups already while gathering my courage, and it’s barely ten o’clock. My heart is pounding so fast in my chest, and I don’t know if it’s because of where I am and what I am about to do or the caffeine. It might be a little bit of both.
Ryan is at work, so he won’t worry where I am, which I am pleased about. We haven’t been doing well lately. There’s this tension between us that is very uncomfortable. I’ve been avoiding him at the house, making sure to keep myself occupied with chores, and I have spent a lot of time in the laundry room lately. But I can’t avoid him constantly. And when I do spend time with him, I feel so awkward, and he senses it. He can sense something is off. He’s being extremely suspicious of me and keeps asking me where I have been and with whom. Even when I tell him the truth, I feel like I’m lying. He looks at me as though I am, as though he doesn’t believe a word I tell him. So, I try to talk as little as possible to him, and that makes him even more suspicious of me. Just the day before, he asked me what was wrong with me.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just tired.”
“You’re acting weird.”
The thing is, he’s right. I am acting weird, but I don’t know how not to anymore. I don’t remember how to act normal around him. The more I think about it, the worse it gets. It’s like this circle that I can’t escape. I just can’t relax around him enough to seem normal.
Luckily, getting back to work has given him other things to think about, and I am off the hook, at least until he gets back later in the day. Tonight, he will ask me what I have been doing all day, and I am ready to tell him. I have a list in my mind of things I have done that won’t arouse any suspicion—things he will approve of and hopefully believe. I don’t like to lie to him, though. But lying has become my life now. I feel like it’s all I do. I don’t like how good I am becoming at it.
“You don’t mind if I have a cup, then?” Rick Thibodeau asks, and I shake my head again.
“Of course not.”
He leaves and comes back with a cup in his hand. He sits down across from me. “So, what can I do for you, Mrs. Davis?”
“It’s about Sandra…I mean Mrs. Mulcahey,” I say. I look down at my hands, and they’re trembling. I keep them clasped together in my lap, so he won’t see.
He nods and sips his coffee.
“What about her?”
“I…I fear it might not have been suicide.”
Rick Thibodeau lifts his eyebrows and leans forward, folding his hands on the desk. “And just what makes you say that?”
I exhale deeply. This is it; this is the moment. There’s no turning back now. “My husband…he was with her right before she died.”
Rick Thibodeau nods. “And?”
“Well, he met with her right before she died. I read a message from him on Facebook, where he told her he’d stop by.”
“Okay,” Rick Thibodeau says. “I can understand from your perspective how that seems suspicious, and maybe it was, maybe they were having an affair, but how does that involve me or the OSI?”
I am shifting in my seat, unable to sit still. “Well…the thing is, he was there when Ted Kenopensky died too. Right before he was found hanging.”
Rick Thibodeau grabs the cup, then slurps his coffee while watching me intently. He puts the cup down slowly like he has all the time in the world.
“I see. And this is what you came here to tell me?”
“Yes.”
He nods again, moving slowly. He grabs his cup, then asks before he takes another long sip, “And just how are things in your marriage, Mrs. Davis?”
Startled at this, I frown.
“What do you mean?”
“Are things good? Are you happy together?”
“I don’t see how that has anything to do with…”