Page 95 of The Perfect Divorce

“Bob didn’t take the news of our separation well,” I say, lowering my head and shaking it slightly, giving myself time to create more tears to go along with these lies. I lift my head and stare back at the sheriff.

“He changed for the worse after I filed for divorce, becoming abusive and rather unhinged. I had never seen him act like that. He even threatened my life... more than once, and I was terrified for my own safety and for my daughter’s, so I filed a protective order against him—well, my divorce attorney did. Bob went even more ballistic after he found out. So, no, I don’t know exactly what he meant by that, because he had become a person I didn’t even recognize anymore. All I do know is he was dead set on getting full custody of Summer,” I say, planting the seed, waiting for it to grow in their heads.

Olson raises a brow. “Do you think Bob would try to frame you for a crime in order to get full custody?”

There it is... the seed, cultivating in her mind. Thank you, Chief Deputy Olson, for nurturing it, giving it the sustenance it needs to grow.

“I would hope not, but I really don’t know.”

I can’t come on too strong with that theory of mine because it’s theirs now, or at least they think it is. Such clever cops.

There are a few beats of silence before Hudson rises from his chair. I’ve given them enough. Now, they’ve got to make sure all these pieces fit together into a narrative they can sell to the public, the media, and the justice system. I know it all will go together perfectly, and it will tell an unbelievable story everyone will eventually come to believe. After all, truth is stranger than fiction, or at least that’s what people will say when they hear it.

“Well, we’ll get out of your hair now, Sarah. I’m very sorry for your loss,” Hudson says with a nod. “We’ll be in touch with any further questions.”

Olson pockets her notepad and gets to her feet too, echoing the sheriff’s sentiment.

“Thanks,” I say, standing from my chair.

“Also,” Hudson adds, “we’ll be executing a search warrant for Bob’s apartment in the city as well as his office at the firm, and hopefully, that will help us better understand everything.”

I say, “Okay,” and walk them to the front door.

That’s good police work. They’ll find the knife I stashed in Bob’s safe, hidden in the wall, behind a piece of gaudy artwork. It’ll have Kelly’s blood on the blade and Bob’s fingerprints on the handle. I remember the night I gave it to him. He held it in his hands, admiring the blood-streaked blade. Then I asked him to get rid of it and told him to get a rag so he could wipe down the handle. He left the room, and I switched them out—replacing the real murder weapon with one covered in pig’s blood. I knew he would keep it. I could see it in his eyes. He loved me, but he was terrified of me too, and rightfully so. Bob needed something that could protect himself in the future, just in case he ever ended up on my bad side. It was a test, and he failed it miserably.

“Please let me know if I can be of any help,” I say as they step onto the porch.

“We will, and again, I’m very sorry.” Sheriff Hudson nods and the two of them head to their vehicle.

Closing the door, I smile so wide, it feels like my top lip has split. There will be more questions. More inquiries. An array of theories as to what really happened. Some will even speculate that I had something to do with it. But all the evidence will point to Bob and only Bob. Tears spring to my eyes... but this time, they’re real.

FIFTY-TWO

SHERIFF HUDSON

I throw the report down on my desk. “It was Bob,” I say to Olson, who sits across from me. “Fingerprints on the knife found in his safe match his, and the blood is a match to Kelly Summers.”

“Wow, that’s... incredible.” She picks up the report, reading it over.

“I guess that solves that case.”

“It sure is convenient.” Olson shakes her head, still flipping through the report.

“It is, isn’t it?” I say, moving my mouth side to side. “Bob winds up dead, killed by the woman he kidnapped, and when we search his apartment, the murder weapon in the Kelly Summers case, after all these years, was in his safe, like it had a bow tied around it.” I bump my fist against my knee a few times softly, a reflexive habit I have when thinking.

Sometimes evidence in a case is convenient because... well, that’s what evidence does; it helps solve a crime, tells the story of what really happened. But it isn’t usually just gift wrapped in a place we would have never thought to look.

“And the other pool of blood in the basement?” she asks.

“It’s a match to the blood found at the salon, so we can assume it was Carissa’s.”

“Wow” is all Olson can say.

“Forensics said they estimated that between the two scenes, there were approximately five pints of it.”

“So, we can presume Carissa Brooks is dead?”

I nod and let out a deep sigh.

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