But he hadn’t come back last night. He’d stayed somewhere else, and she felt as if her whole world was falling apart. He was avoiding her. What can she do to bring him back?
She fights tears of frustration. He can’t stay away forever with just one small suitcase. He’ll have to start going back to work, he’ll need his suits again. He’ll have to return home, and she will be watching; he won’t escape her. She’ll make him see that he belongs with her. And she’ll make sure that Karen never gets out of prison.
If she has to, she will testify against Karen, even if Tom doesn’t like it, even if he hates her for it for a little while. Because as long as Karen exists in the world, Tom won’t choose Brigid. This makes her angriest of all.
She sees a car come up the street and watches it park in front of her house. She knows that car. And she recognizes the two detectives getting out of it. What are they doing here? Her body tenses involuntarily.
The doorbell rings. Brigid, suddenly nervous, considers ignoring it, but they probably saw her in the window. Even if they didn’t, they’ll just come back. She gets up to answer the door. Just before she opens it, she rearranges her face into what she hopes is a composed smile. “Yes?” she says.
“Good afternoon,” Detective Rasbach says and holds up his badge.
“I know who you are, detective,” she says. “I remember you from the last time you were here.”
“May we come in?” he asks.
“Of course,” Brigid says, opening the door wide. She invites them to sit down in the living room. Jennings sits, but Rasbach wanders over to the big picture window and stands right behind Brigid’s favorite chair, looking across at the Krupps’ house.
“Nice view,” he says.
Then Rasbach comes and sits across from her. His sharp blue eyes are disconcerting. He must have noticed that she’s changed her hair. She resists the urge to reach up and touch it. “How can I help you?” she asks.
“We have a few questions,” Rasbach says, “about your neighbor across the street—Karen Krupp. She’s been arrested as part of an ongoing homicide investigation.”
Brigid crosses her legs and folds her hands tightly in her lap. “I know. It’s so shocking. I thought I knew her so well, but I had no idea what she’s really like. I mean, I guess none of us did. I’m sure her husband didn’t.”
“She hasn’t been convicted yet,” Rasbach points out mildly.
She can feel herself flush slightly. “No, of course not.” She recrosses her legs and volunteers, “Karen told me—before she was arrested—that she thought she must have witnessed something, a murder, and that you were trying to get her to remember what happened that night to help you in your investigation.” She looks directly at the handsome detective. “But that isn’t really true, is it?” When Rasbach doesn’t answer, she glances back and forth at the two men conspiratorially. “I knew something more was going on—the police have been coming and going over there a lot.” She leans forward from her seat on the sofa and hopes she conveys the appropriate concern when she asks, “Who was that man? Do you know why she did it?”
“Right now, we’re simply investigating all avenues,” Rasbach says smoothly. “And we’re hoping you can help us.”
“Of course,” she says, pulling back a little from him.
“Did Karen Krupp ever mention to you that she was afraid of someone, or worried about her safety?”
Brigid shakes her head. “No.”
“Did she ever tell you that she had a gun?”
She gives them a look of surprise. “No.”
“Did you ever see anyone suspicious around their property?”
Brigid shakes her head again and says, “No, why?”
“The Krupps say that someone was coming into their house, over a period of several weeks. We think this may be tied to what happened that night. So we’ve taken fingerprints inside the house and since we know that you visited Karen there on occasion, we would like to get your prints to eliminate them from our list. Would you be willing to come down to the station and be fingerprinted? It would be very helpful.”
Brigid looks at him and thinks rapidly. She knows she wiped the gun clean—she even Googled how to do it properly—and she wore gloves when she hid it in the garage. She knows her prints aren’t on the gun. And there’s good reason for her prints to be in the Krupps’ house; she’s a friend. So she has nothing to worry about.
Except for one thing that’s been bothering her lately. She’s pretty sure she pushed opened the door of the restaurant that night with her hand. But that’s okay. Because if she has to, she can admit that she was there, and that she saw Karen kill that man. Tom will be angry, but Karen will be gone for good, and he’ll come around, eventually. She doesn’t see that she has much choice right now about the fingerprints. And if she has to admit that she was there—well, she hasn’t said anything under oath about that night yet. She simply told them she wasn’t home. She can change her story. She may have to tell the truth about what she saw. Rasbach is waiting for her answer.
“Okay,” she says. “Now?”
“If you don’t mind,” Rasbach says politely.
There’s a sound near the front door and they all turn their heads suddenly in that direction. Bob Cruikshank comes unexpectedly into the living room, looking startled.
“What’s going on?” he asks. “Who are you?” he says to the detectives.
“What are you doing here?” Brigid asks, equally surprised. She doesn’t want Bob here.
“I’m not feeling well,” her husband says. “I came home to lie down.”
Rasbach stands up, flashes his badge, and says, “I’m Detective Rasbach, and this is Detective Jennings. We’re investigating a homicide, and came to ask your wife some questions.”
“What do you want with her?” he asks suspiciously. “This is about that woman across the street, isn’t it? They’re friends, but I doubt Brigid can help you much.”
Brigid gives him a hostile look. She says, “Maybe I’m not as useless as you think.”
At this he gives her a look of surprise, while the detectives silently observe the two of them.
“Let’s go,” she says to the detectives and brushes past her husband.
She hears him call after her, “Where are you going?”
She turns around and faces him and says, “I’m going to be fingerprinted.” She enjoys the look of confusion on his face. Let him think about that for a while.
—
It’s early evening when Rasbach gets the results from the lab about the fingerprints. He and Jennings are in Rasbach’s office, chewing on a pizza, discussing the results, and where to go from here.
“Brigid Cruikshank was at the murder scene. Her prints are on the door,” Rasbach says. He’s not at all surprised, because while waiting for the fingerprint results, he and Jennings had gone back to the suburb and interviewed the neighbors again, asking if they’d seen Brigid that night. And each of the two women who had seen Karen driving too fast down the street that night had also seen Brigid driving down the same street shortly after. So they can now be fairly certain that Brigid followed Karen Krupp.
“And her prints are all over the Krupps’ house,” Jennings adds.
“Brigid is the stalker,” Rasbach says. “She’s the only one whose prints showed up in Karen’s underwear drawer, for instance. Even Tom Krupp’s prints weren’t in his wife’s underwear drawer.”
“So what was she doing, going through Karen Krupp’s underwear?” Jennings muses. “That’s pretty creepy behavior.”
“Brigid is most likely the one who picked up the gun and put it in the garage,” Rasbach says. “Karen says that Brigid is in love with Tom and is trying to frame her for murder.” He takes a deep breath and exhales. “What’s really going on here?” Rasbach asks.
Jennings says, “Maybe Brigid is i
n love with Tom. Maybe she’s nuts. Maybe she did follow Karen, shoot Traynor, and then hide the gun in the garage.”
Rasbach says thoughtfully, “They were both there. Either of them might have done it. They both had motive. We won’t be able to prosecute either one of them, because each of them can point to the other.” He leans back in his chair, throws down a pizza crust in frustration. “It’s almost like they planned it together—the perfect murder.”
“Are we looking for collusion then, joint intention?” Jennings asks.
“I don’t think we’re going to be able to find it,” Rasbach says. He thinks for a minute. “Because what’s in it for Brigid? It’s great for Karen. Robert, the threat, is gone for good. Karen gets off scot-free. All fine and dandy. But what’s in it for Brigid? Brigid doesn’t get anything.” Rasbach looks at Jennings. “Would you do that for a friend?”
“No. I would not,” Jennings admits. Then he suggests, “Maybe Brigid and Karen are more than friends. Maybe they’re lovers and they planned this together to get rid of Robert. And Tom Krupp has no idea what’s going on.”
Rasbach tilts his head at him. “That’s some pretty creative thinking, Jennings.” Jennings shrugs good-naturedly. Rasbach runs his hand tiredly over his face, then he shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Me either.”
“I don’t think they worked this out together. I think the two women are working at cross-purposes.” Rasbach sits back in his chair. “We need to bring Brigid in for questioning. But let’s bring Tom Krupp in first.”
Chapter Forty-five
Tom’s tense when he comes in for questioning the next morning. He would rather be anywhere than in this interview room at the police station. The room is already warm, as if the air-conditioning is off, or broken. Do they do that on purpose, so they can see him sweat? Somehow Rasbach doesn’t seem to notice the heat. Tom moves nervously in his seat as they get started.
“What is your relationship with Brigid Cruikshank?” Rasbach asks, not wasting any time.
Tom flushes. “I’ve already told you.”
“Tell us again.”
He doesn’t know if they have already spoken to Brigid or not, and what she might have told them. He worries that the way she tells it won’t be the same as the way he does. He tells them again about their brief affair, and how he stopped it. “I thought that was the end of it. I didn’t think she still had any feelings for me. But after Karen was arrested, she came to our house and—” He pauses.
“And what?” Rasbach asks patiently.
“My wife told you all this.” Tom knows what Karen told the detectives the day before—every detail; Calvin has relayed it all to him. He also knows that Karen lied to her lawyer and the detectives about recovering all of her memory. He wishes she hadn’t done that.
“We want to hear it from you,” Rasbach says.
Tom sighs deeply. “Brigid told me that she followed Karen that night and that if I didn’t have sex with her, she would tell the police that she was there, and—”
“And what?”
“And that she heard shots fired and saw Karen run out of the restaurant immediately after.”
Rasbach nods thoughtfully. “I see. Did you have sex with her then, when she threatened you that way?”
“Yes,” Tom says. He knows he sounds sullen, ashamed; he knows he’s twisting the truth. He lifts his head and looks the detective in the eye.
“So you believed her when she told you that Karen had committed murder,” the detective says.
“No! No, I did not,” Tom protests, flustered. “I thought that she was making it up and that she would go to the police with all her lies, and that it would make it worse for Karen.” Tom squirms in his chair, feels the sweat beneath his shirt.
“Why do you think Brigid threatened you that way?” Rasbach asks.
“She’s crazy,” Tom says. “She’s crazy, that’s why! She sits in her window watching everything we do. She’s obsessed with us, and she’s in love with me. It’s like something in her mind is twisted, and we’re caught up in it somehow, like we’re part of some fantasy she has.” He has no trouble saying any of this, because it’s all too horribly true. Calvin has shared with him and Karen what the technicians found in the house; he knows about the fingerprints. Tom leans forward across the table and fixes his eyes on the detective. “We all know now that she’s been going into our house when we’re not home. We all know what the fingerprints show. She must have been coming in for weeks, snooping through our house. Lying down on our bed. Going through Karen’s underwear. And now she’s even cut her hair just like Karen’s. Tell me that’s not crazy! Who does that?” Tom realizes he’s been gesturing wildly with his arms; he sits back in his chair, trying to calm down.
Rasbach stares back at him, saying nothing.
“A few days ago,” Tom adds, “Karen thought someone had taken the stopper off her perfume bottle and left it on the vanity. I thought she’d done it herself. But guess whose fingerprints were on that perfume stopper? Brigid’s!”
“How do you think she got in?” Rasbach asks.
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that,” Tom says. “I loaned her a spare set of keys when we were seeing each other. She returned them. But I’m thinking she must have made a copy before she gave them back.”
“And you never had your locks changed?”
“No. Why would I? I wasn’t expecting any of this.” But he should have. Of course he should have changed the locks.
Rasbach continues to stare at him. “Anything else?”
“Yes. She’s the only one who could have planted the gun in our garage. She must have been there that night, like she says; she must have followed Karen. She must have picked up the gun.” Tom sits back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest. “So. Are you going to arrest her?”
“Arrest her for what, exactly?” Rasbach asks.
Tom glares back at him in disbelief. “I don’t know,” he says, with sarcasm, “how about harassment, planting evidence . . .”
“I don’t have any evidence that she planted the gun,” Rasbach says.
Tom feels a clutch of fear at his heart. “Who else could it have been?” he asks, dismayed.
“I don’t know. It might have been anyone. The calls came from a public telephone.”
Tom stares at Rasbach in disbelief, his anxiety mounting. Fuck. If Rasbach doesn’t believe Brigid planted the gun . . . Tom feels his stomach tightening in fear as the detective watches him.
“I can probably,” Rasbach says, “charge her with trespassing.” He stands up and says, “I don’t have any more questions at this time. You’re free to go.”
Tom gets up slowly, trying to preserve his dignity.
“Pretty convenient, your wife getting her memory back all of a sudden,” Rasbach says casually.
Tom freezes, then forces himself to ignore the comment. He’s not going to say anything.
“Oh, just one more thing,” Rasbach says. “Why did Brigid want to meet you that night?”
Tom sits slowly back down. “I asked her, that night, when I called her to see if she knew where Karen was. I asked her why she wanted to meet me, and why she stood me up. But she said to forget it, it wasn’t important, that something had come up.” He pauses, remembering. “I was so worried about Karen that I didn’t push it. But later on—” He hesitates.
“Later on . . . ,” Rasbach prompts him.
Tom doesn’t know if he should tell them this or not. But what if Brigid does? “She told me that she’d wanted to meet me that night to tell me that she’d seen someone snooping around our house that morning.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know for sure, but from the description, it sounded like Robert Traynor.”
Chapter Forty-six
Bob had badgered Brigid about coming with her t
o the station, but she hadn’t let him. When she’d come home the evening before, after the fingerprinting, he was all over her. Why did they want her fingerprints? Was that normal police procedure? He looked at her like he was worried that she’d done something criminal. She let him stew for a bit before explaining that they only wanted her prints for exclusionary purposes.
But when the detectives telephoned this afternoon and asked her to come in to answer a few questions—Bob was still home, not feeling well—he asked her what the hell was going on. She said she was going down to the police station for questioning. He looked at her that way again, as if he were suddenly very worried about something. And he’d wanted to get dressed and come with her, but she’d told him no and taken the car without waiting for him. And now he’s stuck at home, waiting and worrying. Brigid’s enjoying this part of it. Imagine, Bob taking an interest. She smiles a cold smile. It’s too late. She’s already moved on.
She checks in at the front desk and is immediately taken into an interview room. The two detectives, Rasbach and Jennings, soon arrive. They tell her about the video camera. She likes the way they treat her—they are friendly but respectful, trying to put her at ease. As if she’s doing them a favor. She is doing them a favor. They even bring her a coffee, which she accepts graciously. They are all friends here, with the same goal, surely. They want to catch a killer, and so does she.
“Brigid, what is your relationship with Karen Krupp?” Rasbach begins.
“We’re neighbors and good friends,” Brigid says. “We’ve been friends for about two years, since she married Tom and moved in with him across the street.”
Rasbach nods encouragement. “And how do you feel about her husband, Tom Krupp?”
She blushes involuntarily; she’s annoyed with herself for that. She reaches for her coffee. “I like to think that we’re friends, too,” she says, recovering her composure.
“Is that all you are, friends?” Rasbach asks pointedly.
Now she flushes in earnest. She’s not sure what to say. Has Tom told them about their past affair? And that they’ve begun sleeping together again? Surely not. If he has, then he must no longer be afraid of her telling them that she saw Karen at the murder scene that night. Has Karen already made some kind of deal with the police? She says, “Why are you asking me that?”