Unfaithful - Natalie Barelli Page 0,77

I know doctoral work can be very taxing on young people.”

I shake my head. “Oh. Sorry, I thought… forget that. I wasn’t thinking. Did you say suicide?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“I see.” I think about this for a moment. Rub my hands over my arms, like I’m trying to warm myself up. “To answer your question, yes and no. I was his supervisor—”

“Which is why I was asking.”

“Yes.” I raise my hand. It’s shaking. I cross my arms. “I understand that now. He was struggling, yes. He was late on his thesis—they all are, to be honest. Just once I’d like to see a student turn in a thesis on time!” I laugh, then catch myself. “I’m sorry. What I was going to say is, I hardly ever saw him because he stopped coming. He liked to work at home, on his own, in his own time. I was concerned he was using drugs, maybe some kind of amphetamines, stimulants of sort? I don’t know if that helps.”

“Thank you. It does.”

“And I wish I’d said something sooner, about the drug use. If he was using I mean, I actually have no idea. Just an impression I got. I think I even mentioned it at the time.”

Detective Jones watches me for a moment, then he nods abruptly, thanks me, and finally walks out.

I let out a breath as I sit there with my heart thumping and what’s left of my fingernails between my teeth. Why did I have to say that? I hardly ever saw him anymore but I was worried about his excessive drug use. How would I know that if I never saw him? Did Detective Jones pick up on that? That I’m inconsistent? Of course he did. That’s his job, catching people out when they lie. Also, did I say that the first time they came to ask about Alex? I hardly ever saw him anymore. I have no idea. I can’t remember.

I call Luis. “Have they been yet?”

“Yes, a female detective. She’s gone.”

I release a breath. “A detective came to talk to me too, just now.”

“What did he say?”

“Same as you, I suspect. Asked how she seemed when I saw her last. Which was last Friday. That’s what I said.” I wonder if he’s going to contradict me, but he doesn’t. “They said she died by falling down the stairs.”

He doesn’t reply.

We sit in silence for a moment. “You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Good. It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”

“I don’t know what that means, Anna.”

“I know. Just trust me, okay? Everything will be fine.”

Thirty

Luis arrives back home and he stands in the kitchen, his shoulders bowed, his features distorted with sadness. I take him in my arms. I hold him, stroke his hair, and we stand there a while until he disengages himself and sits down heavily at the table. I sit opposite him and take his hand.

I tell him about Detective Jones’s visit. We swap notes. Both our interviews—if that’s what they were—were strikingly similar. When did you last see her? What was her state of mind? Did she seem upset? Preoccupied? Depressed? Was she afraid?

I drop his hand. “Did they ask that? If she was afraid?”

He nods, runs his fingertip over a spot on the table.

“They didn’t ask me that. As far as I could tell, her fall was an accident. What did you say?”

He shrugs. “That she was great.”

Great.

“Did she seem strange to you when you walked her back to her car?” I ask. I can’t help it. It’s because he said she was great.

He flinches, but there’s tension in his jaw. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I’m just asking.”

He doesn’t reply. He scratches at the same spot but with more vigor now.

“Talk to me, Luis.”

He remains silent and doesn’t meet my eye. Then he gets up, grabs a knife from the cutlery drawer and returns to his chair. He uses the knife to scrape off something at the same spot.

“What are you doing?”

“There’s a bit of wax or something. Or some gum. I’m removing it.”

He’s like a man obsessed. I put my hand on his. “Stop.”

He raises his head and looks at me, and his features crumple with misery. I squeeze his hand. I check the clock behind me. “Pull yourself together, Luis. The kids will be home any minute.” Just as I say that, Matti and Carla bounce through the front door into the kitchen. They leave traces of slush from their shoes on the clean floor and I don’t care. I