Page 68 of The Perfect Divorce

Olson turns and briefly looks over her shoulder at me. There’s always a point in an interrogation where you can tell if the person you’re questioning is going to be helpful or not, and we just got our answer.

“Have you spoken to or seen Carissa recently?” Olson asks again.

“I just told you I’m not allowed to.”

“Right, butnot allowed toandnot doingare two different things, aren’t they?”

George juts his chin forward, and the early signs of a scowl form across his face. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“Why? Did you do something worth being accused of?” She angles her head to the side.

George points a finger at her. “Don’t you start with your bullshit cop games. I didn’t do anything, all right?” He holds his finger steady in the air as if the longer he points, the better chance he has of ending all of this.

“Then just answer the question,” she says. “When was the last time you had any contact with Carissa?”

“A few weeks ago. But she’s the one who texted me, okay? I didn’t break the rules.” George’s voice cracks in a panic, the tough-guy act fading like the leather of his jacket.

“Why did she text you?” I ask, my arms crossed in front of me as I lean my back against the wall.

He snaps his head in my direction, surprised, as though he forgot I was still in the room. “She asked if I was really out.”

“Now, why would she go and do something like that? Especially after you put her in the hospital, and then she went through all the effort to get a protective order against you, not once but twice?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe she still cares about me.”

“Right. And what else was said?” Olson asks.

“Nothing. I answered her question. I told her I got early release, that I was sorry, and that I wasn’t the same man that went into prison. I told her I loved her and that I always would.” George glances down at his lap.

“Came on a little strong, don’t ya think?” Olson says.

He doesn’t respond.

“And did Carissa reply to your text?” she adds.

“No, she didn’t.”

“Must have made you real mad to get rejected again? Especially after pouring your heart out and making all those changes while spending months behind bars. You must have been enraged.”

George’s finger is back in the air, pointing at Olson. “I know what you’re fucking doing. Shut your mouth...”

I step forward out of instinct.

“Or what? You’ll hit me?” Olson cocks her head.

“No! I’m not gonna... ugghh... See, this is what you cops do. You get people to?—”

“Lose their temper? Show their true selves?” she says.

“I’m not losing my temper!” George slams his fist against the table, the ring of metal reverberating in the room.

The sound dies out into an air of total silence, save for George’s labored breathing. His eyes dart between me and Olson, the look on his face changing from rage to shock to embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he says, hanging his head and rubbing the underside of his fist with his other hand.

Olson leans forward, placing both of her hands on the table. “Where were you Sunday night, between the hours of nine p.m. and two a.m.?”

“At home.”

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