Page 65 of She Didn’t See It Coming

Advised that Sam and his lawyer are ready for them after half an hour on their own, Jayne and Kilgour return to the interview room. She restarts the tape.

Sam pulls himself up a little straighter and says, “I didn’t kill my wife.”

Jayne waits for more. There must be more.

“Paige is lying. I wasn’t there. She must have killed Bryden, and she wants me to take the fall for it.” He begins speaking in a rush. “She was jealous of Bryden. I think she was in love with me. But I never felt that way about her. I don’t want a life with her. She’s—she’s obviously crazy.”

“I’m afraid that doesn’t help us very much,” Jayne says.

Sam says abruptly, “I wasn’t in the park that day like I said.”

Jayne raises an eyebrow. She thinks of the man-hours that went into trying to confirm his alibi. “And where exactly were you, Sam?” She’s expecting another lie, a desperate attempt from a desperate man.

He hesitates, then confesses, “I have a drug problem.”

“What kind of a drug problem?” Jayne asks.

Sam glances at his attorney for reassurance, and she gives him a quick nod. He takes a deep breath, lets it out. “I have a high-pressure job. I work in investments. There’s a lot of stress. And yes, sometimes I took it out on Bryden, physically.” He pauses.

“Go on.”

“Some of the guys at work do a bit of coke; everyone looks the other way. I tried that, but then I found oxy.” He sighs heavily.

“After a while, I needed more, so I—I started crushing it, and—” His face flushes and she sees that this is difficult for him to admit, that he’s ashamed.

“Bryden didn’t know. Paige doesn’t know.

Nobody at work knows. If this gets out, I’ll lose my job.

I could lose my daughter. That’s why I didn’t say anything.

But now I have no choice. I didn’t kill my wife! ”

“Go on.”

“I never do drugs at home. It’s just for work. A way to cope. That’s why Bryden had no idea. But sometimes, during the day, if I need to calm down, if I need a confidence boost, I’ll call my dealer. I’ll go out for a while and get what I need.”

“And is that what you were doing when Bryden died?”

His face contorts. “Yes.” The pain and grief and shame he feels are clear enough.

“And can you prove that?” Jayne asks.

He answers shakily. “I hope so. After I picked up something to eat at the food truck, I didn’t go to the park. I went to my dealer’s. He has a place, a small apartment. There was one other guy there that I know. We’re both regulars. But I’m not sure they’ll talk.”

“Oh, they’ll talk,” Jayne says. “Give us the name and address of this dealer. Now.”

···

The following afternoon, Jayne and Kilgour sit across from Paige and her attorney once again.

“I have some news for you, Paige,” Jayne says. The other woman leans forward expectantly; she seems to think that they have agreed to a deal for her in return for her testifying against Sam. Jayne says, “Sam has a solid alibi for the time of Bryden’s murder.”

She watches Paige’s face freeze and then change from hope to disbelief.

“What? No, he doesn’t. You know he doesn’t.”

“He’s changed his story and now his alibi is one hundred percent solid.” She pauses. “You alone will be charged for the murder of Bryden Frost.”

Paige’s face becomes twisted with rage. She roars in fury, stands up and tries with all her strength to knock the table over onto the detectives, but it is bolted to the floor, frustrating her. Kilgour leaps up to restrain her. “ Who? Who was he with? ” she screams.

“His drug dealer,” Jayne says calmly.

She watches with satisfaction as the astonishment seizes Paige’s face.

···

Paige is speechless with fury. How can this be happening? Sam lied to her. He told her he had no alibi. And now she has fucked herself completely. She feels herself panicking as Kilgour roughly pushes her back in her seat.

She knew Bryden would be home alone that day.

She knew that she could overpower her, smother her with a plastic bag.

She knew that if she wore long sleeves, and gloves, and if she vacuumed carefully afterward, there would be no evidence left against her.

Anything found in the vacuum cleaner bag could be explained by her having been in the apartment regularly.

She knew the suitcase was in the closet, and that Bryden would fit.

The only risky part was taking her down to the basement.

But she couldn’t bear to leave the body there, for Sam and Clara to find.

She knew there were no cameras, that if anything, there might be an eyewitness, but she’d worn a nondescript black jacket with a hood.

And she didn’t think they’d suspect a woman.

She thought Sam would be at work. She didn’t know he’d go to the park for two hours and be unable to account for his whereabouts.

That had been concerning, when the police were looking at him.

Especially considering that they were sleeping together—she didn’t want that getting out.

But she knew he hadn’t done it, so there would be no physical evidence against him.

She hoped they could build a life together, after everything settled down.

But the fucking police. That fucking phone call.

And Sam lied to her. Why hadn’t he told her the truth?

She believed him when he said he had no alibi.

So when it became clear that they knew it was her in the elevator with Bryden’s body, she decided to cut her losses and pin it on him.

She’d come to realize he didn’t really care for her.

She’d stupidly admitted hiding the body, the clothes.

This can’t be happening.

···

That night, Michael takes Jayne out for dinner. There’d already been a celebration of sorts at the station. He orders wine and offers a toast. “To you, for solving the case.”

“It was a team effort,” she says. They clink glasses and begin to talk.

Jayne looks back at him. She loves him, and she knows he loves her.

She asks herself: Can she do it? Can she commit to a long-term relationship, the kind of relationship that he’s told her he wants?

Is that what she wants too? Marriage and children?

Can she do that and still do her job? The job she loves but that makes her anxious and exhausted and sometimes depressed? Is it time to choose?

It occurs to her that she still hasn’t talked to Ginny, the forensic pathologist, about having that drink.

“Did I tell you?” Michael begins. “There was this woman in my lecture on abnormal psychology yesterday. She came up and spoke to me after—asked some very good questions…”

“Like what?” Jayne asks, sipping her wine.

“Like ‘How does a psychopath experience love compared to a normal person?’?” He pauses thoughtfully. “She wants to meet for coffee.”

Jayne raises her eyebrows and smiles back at him. “Is she attractive?”

“Well, yes, I suppose,” he replies. He smiles, reaches out across the table, and takes her hand. “But you have nothing to worry about.”