I knew the truth could be devastating and I wasn’t prepared to hear it.
Detective MacFayden's eyes glimmered with sudden compassion, and he parted his lips to say something, but Reeds quickly leaned his hand against MacFayden's chest in what looked like a warning to leave the talking to him.
“We understand you must be under a lot of stress at the moment. There is absolutely no wish to delay your reunion with your injured husband on our part, but we were hoping you would be willing to answer a few short questions before we let you be on your way.”
Without bothering to pretend I had any desire to answer their questions, I exhaled harshly and snapped. “I have just been informed my husband is lying somewhere in a hospital and could die at any moment. I'm sure the paperwork can wait.”
Reeds' lips twitched in what resembled a weak attempt to produce a sympathetic smile.
“We are honestly sorry to bother you at this time of great trial, but since your husband is unable to share the details of his accident at the moment, your cooperation would be very much appreciated,” he persisted. “As a matter of fact, we believe you might have crucial information for this investigation.”
“Investigation?” I tested the word on my lips, and it didn't seem real. “I don't understand. I thought you said my husband had an accident. Why an investigation?”.
“There were no traces that indicated your husband attempted to brake, which is highly unusual. It can mean someone tampered with his car.” He paused and observed my startled reaction. “Please understand we are trying to gather as many clues as we can. It could take days before the examination of the vehicle is completed.”
Narrowing my eyes, I wanted to say I was shocked by his revelation and didn’t have the slightest idea of what had happened, but I knew better than to spark an argument with the force of law. At this point, I would have agreed to anything just to get them out of the house as soon as possible.
“It's all right,” I assured him quietly. “I’m more than willing to offer any information that might shed some light on what happened to my husband. All I ask is that you make it quick.” I gestured toward the long chaise lounge across from me. “Please, take a seat.”
In a synchronized movement, both of them sat down and there was a moment of awkward silence. Reeds fumbled with his jacket, taking out a jumbled pile of small papers and then he continued going through his pockets, still searching for something. The nerve-wracking anticipation deepened the tension that took over my system as I mentally prepared myself for whatever questions they might ask. The click of a pen made me snap out of my thoughts and, once again, I focused on the older detective.
“Shall we begin?” Reeds inquired in a normal and conversational tone.
“I'm ready when you are,” I replied in a quiet, distant voice.
The flicker of doubt in Reeds’ bright eyes told me he was surprised by my reaction. For a woman who had just received news that her husband's life was hanging by a thread, my behavior was too measured and controlled. I knew playing my part demanded more emotion, but I couldn't make myself feel at will; not even for the sake of a more convincing performance. A long, long time ago I learned feelings were destructive and dangerous. If you wanted to survive, you had to be strong. That meant remaining cold and detached on the outside, no matter what was happening on the inside.
He scribbled something on a crumpled piece of paper, and looked me straight in the eyes. “When was the last time you saw your husband?”
A vivid image of Alessandro in all of his naked glory sprang to my mind, and I couldn't contain the gasp of sheer distress that escaped my throat. Perhaps I wasn’t as good at hiding my emotions as I thought.
“The last time I saw my husband was this morning,” I said, hoping they wouldn't ask for details.
Reeds' sharp voice mocked my silent prayer. “What was the occasion?”
For a long time, I remained silent. I was tempted to say we were sharing breakfast, having small talk and that he kissed me goodbye before he went to work. To make the story more believable, I was even prepared to say it was a part of our routine—something we were doing on a daily basis; something that would make us