Chapter 4
The police grilled me even harder this time.
The hospital added that when Claire was admitted, she was terrified, and kept shouting, "Don't touch me."
Linda confirmed that I hadn't been coming home at night lately, and that our marriage was in serious trouble.
Our neighbor also said they heard a man's voice coming from our place last night.
I kept my eyes fixed on the statement.
"The neighbor heard a man's voice, but that doesn't prove it was me," I said.
The officer shot me a look.
"So you think there was someone else there?" he asked.
I said, "I'm not guessing. I'm certain."
The officer clicked his pen shut.
"Mr. Reed, we need evidence for everything. We'll verify your company records and the hospital's medical report as well," he said.
As I stepped out of the police station, it started to rain.
I didn't have an umbrella.
By the bus stop, I noticed a familiar figure standing under a tree.
It was Mrs. Sawyer, my downstairs neighbor.
When she saw me, her expression turned a little uncomfortable.
"Adam," she said.
I walked over.
"Mrs. Sawyer, did you hear a man's voice coming from my place last night?" I asked.
She tightened her grip on her shopping basket.
"I just heard some noise, that's all. When the police asked, I just told them honestly," she said.
"Did it sound like me?" I asked.
She didn't say a word.
Rain dripped from the awning, splashing onto her shoes.
I lowered my voice.
"Mrs. Sawyer, Claire lost the baby. Now everyone's blaming me, but I really wasn't home last night," I said.
Mrs. Sawyer sighed.
"I heard a man crying. He sounded young, not you," she said.
A cold chill ran through me.
"Why didn't you tell the cops?" I asked.
She looked away.
"Your mother-in-law came to see me this morning. She said Claire almost died, and told me not to say anything. Adam, I'm old. I don't want any trouble," she said.
"Did that guy say anything else?" I asked.
Mrs. Sawyer paused, thinking.
"He was yelling something like, 'Claire, I'm going to die. Please, have pity on me,'" she said.
The rain suddenly poured down.
I stood there, chilled to the bone.
Dying.
An old friend.
He went to see her last night.
All these fragments pieced together, and suddenly a name I really didn't want to face surfaced.
Brian Stone.
Claire's first love back in college.
She brought him up once before we got married.
She said Brian's family was broke, and he was always sick. Their breakup was messy and painful.
After she finished, she hugged me.
"Adam, that's all behind us now. I just want to be with you," she said.
I believed her.
In the three years after our wedding, I never checked her phone or kept tabs on her.
But after she got pregnant, Brian's name popped up twice in my life.
Five months ago, she said she was going to the hospital to visit an old classmate. When she came back, her eyes were red and swollen.
Last month, I found a hematology department payment slip in her bag. She'd torn off half the name, leaving only "Brian" visible.
I asked her about it, and she said she was just running an errand for a friend.
I didn't press her.
Rain was running down my neck.
I flagged down a cab and made my way back to the apartment complex.
There was a white police seal taped across my door, left behind after they'd collected evidence.
The property manager was by the elevator. He frowned when he saw me.
"Mr. Reed, what happened at your place is stirring things up. Everyone in the residents' group chat is talking about it. Your mother-in-law asked us to keep you out for now," he said.
I let out a laugh, half in disbelief, half in anger.
"The deed's in my name. She thinks she can just keep me out?" I asked.
The property manager rubbed his hands awkwardly.
"We're just worried you might mess up the crime scene," he said.
I pulled out my ID and a photo of the deed.
"Either call the police, or unlock the door. Your choice," I said.
He reluctantly called the security guard.
The metallic scent of blood hit me the moment the door swung open, it still hadn't faded.
The cops had taken the sheets from the bedroom, and the floor still showed signs where someone had tried to scrub away the mess.
I stood in the doorway, not stepping inside.
My thin blanket was still left on the couch in the study.
After we got married, the master bedroom had slowly turned into Claire's territory. The study was the only spot that still felt like mine.
On the dining table sat a half-eaten bowl of ravioli.
Beside it were two cups.
One was my usual gray mug.
The other was a clear glass that had never been in the house before.
A faint whiff of medicine clung to the rim.
I used a tissue to pick up the glass and slipped it into a clean bag.
The trash can in the bedroom was spotless, someone had cleared it out.
But next to the washing machine on the balcony, there was a black clothing tag lying on the floor.
The tag had the name of a pharmacy near the hospital stamped on it.
Just as I crouched down, I heard the jingle of keys at the door.
Linda burst in with two relatives right behind her.
"Adam, I knew you'd come back to destroy the evidence!" she shouted.
Her cousin rolled up his sleeves.
"Don't waste your breath on this guy. Hold him down first," he snapped.
The property manager backed away, scared.
I held up my phone.
"I'm recording this," I said.
Her cousin froze for a second.
Linda shrieked, "Go ahead, record! You killed the baby and you still have the guts to film this? Everybody, look! This is the killer!"
Neighbors had already gathered outside the door.
Mrs. Sawyer stood at the back of the crowd, head down.
I gripped the bag with the glass tightly.
Linda lunged at me, trying to snatch it away.
"What's that?" she demanded.
In the struggle, the bag slipped from my hand and hit the floor.
The clear glass tumbled out, hitting the threshold with a sharp, ringing sound.