way of maintaining eye contact. I struggle not to look away. I ask, “What did he want?” bracing myself for the officer’s reply.
“He was worried about you,” Officer Berg says, and I feel myself relax. Will called because he was worried about me.
“Of course,” I say, softening in the chair. Perhaps he tried to call me first, and when I didn’t answer the phone, he called Officer Berg. Perhaps he asked Officer Berg to check on me and see if I was all right. “The weather. And the ferry delay. I was upset the last time we spoke.”
“Yes,” he says. “Mr. Foust told me.”
I start, again sitting upright.
“He told you I was upset?” I ask on the defense, because this is personal, not something Will needed to tell the police.
He nods. “He’s worried about you. He said you were upset about some washcloth,” and it’s then that the conversation shifts, because it’s patronizing the way he says it. As if I’m just some stupid ninny running off at the mouth about a washcloth.
“Oh,” I say, and I leave it at that.
“I was getting ready to head to your house and check on you. You saved me a trip,” he says. Officer Berg tells me the afternoon commute will be messy because the local schools weren’t called off ahead of the storm. The only saving grace is that the snow is to slow in the hours to come.
And then Officer Berg begins to pry. “You want to tell me about this washcloth?”
“I found a washcloth,” I tell him slowly, “covered in blood. In my laundry room.” And then because I’ve said that much already, I go on. “I found the knife buried in my backyard.”
He doesn’t so much as blink. “The knife that was used to kill Mrs. Baines?” he asks.
“I believe so,” I say. “Yes. It had blood on it.”
“Where is the knife now, Doctor?”
“It’s in my backyard.”
“You left it there?”
“I did.”
“Did you touch it?”
“No,” I say.
“Whereabouts in your backyard?” he asks, and I try to describe it for him, though I imagine that by now the knife is engulfed in snow.
“And what about this washcloth? Where is that?”
“Under the washing machine. In the laundry room,” I tell him. He asks if there’s blood on that still, too, and I say yes. He excuses himself and leaves the room. For nearly thirty seconds he’s gone, and when he comes back, he tells me that Officer Bisset is going to my home to retrieve the washcloth and knife. I say to him, “My son is home,” but he assures me that’s all right, that Officer Bisset will be in and out quickly. That he won’t bother Otto.
“But I think, Officer,” I start and then just as soon stop. I don’t know how to say this. I pick at the rim of the disposable cup, pieces of foam coming with me, gathering in a pile on the tabletop like snow.
And then I come right out and say it. “I think maybe my son murdered Mrs. Baines,” I say. “Or maybe Imogen did.”
I expect more of a reaction. But instead he goes on, as if I didn’t just say those words aloud.
“There’s something you should know, Dr. Foust,” he says, and I ask, “What’s that?”
“Your husband...”
“Yes?”
“Will—”
I hate this way he beats around the bush. It’s utterly maddening. “I know my husband’s name,” I snap, and for a moment he stares at me, saying nothing.
“Yes,” he says in time. “I suppose you do.”
A beat of silence passes by. All the while, he stares at me. I shift in my seat.
“When he called, he retracted his earlier statement about the night Mrs. Baines was killed. About how the two of you were watching TV and then went straight to bed. According to your husband, that’s not entirely true.”
I’m taken aback. “It’s not?”
“It’s not. Not according to Mr. Foust.”
“What did Mr. Foust say happened?” I churlishly ask as voices come through on the police scanner, loud but indistinct. Officer Berg goes to it, turning the volume down so that we can speak.
He returns to his chair. “He said that that night, after your program ended, you didn’t go to bed like you said. He said you walked the dogs instead. You took the dogs for a walk while he went up to the bedroom to wash up. You were gone quite some time, your husband said.”
I feel something inside of me start to shift.
Someone is lying. But I don’t know who.
“Is that right?” I ask.
“That’s right,”