Page 14 of The River Is Waiting

“And you said these were stiff drinks, so maybe the equivalent of four regular-sized pours?”

I shrug. “Probably more like three.”

“Okay.” She’s writing all this down. “Any explanation for why your pupils would have been so dilated this morning?”

“Were they?” I shrug again. “I took an Ativan when I got up. I have a prescription.”

“You took just one?”

“Uh, two maybe. Yeah, two, now that I think of it. I take them for anxiety.”

“You were feeling anxious this morning?”

I nod. “I am a lot of mornings. Since I got laid off. I get nervous about our finances. That’s why I have trouble sleeping some nights, too.”

“So you’re saying that when you can’t sleep at night, you use alcohol. And when you feel anxious during the daytime, you take your medication?”

“Yeah. Although some nights when I have insomnia, I just take some over-the-counter thing like Tylenol PM. Which I don’t like doing too much because when I wake up, I feel groggy.”

“Do you ever take a drinkwithyour anxiety medication?”

“Together? No. It says on the prescription bottle not to mix them like that.” It does say that, although I’ve never paid that warning much attention. Lately, when one or the other hasn’t been doing the trick, I combine them. I can still function fine. Coast through whatever I have to do. Whatever I have to deal with.

“And you’re telling the truth about the alcohol. Right, Corby? Because those blood samples are going to tell the truth whether or not you’re lying.”

“Except I’mnotlying! Jesus Christ, lady, I’m cooperating as much as I can under some fucking brutal circumstances.”

“Hey,” Fazio says. “Lower your voice. And watch your language.”

Ignoring him, I get up and go to the door, then turn back to her. “What are you trying to get me to say? That my son is dead because I was drunk? Strung out on benzos? Because that’s bullshit.” And I mean it, too. I was fully functional, despite whatever those blood tests are going to say. It was anaccident.And if they’re getting ready to accuse me of something that isn’t true, I’ll get myself a lawyer before I say anything else.

I open the door and look down the corridor to see whether Emily and Betsy are coming back. Don’t see them but, mercifully, there’s a commotion coming from the other direction. That homeless guy from the waiting room is heading toward where we are, batting away the two guys in scrubs who are trying to subdue him. “Yeah, and you can go to hell if you think I’m gonna put up withyourshit! You think I’m not onto you two? I know who you are.”

“Excuse us,” Fazio tells Detective Sparks. “We better see if we can give them an assist with this individual.” And with that, he and Longo leave the room.

“All right, Corby,” Sparks says. “I guess that’s enough for now, provided you’re willing to come down to the station for some follow-up questions. How about tomorrow afternoon at three? Do you think you’ll be able to do that?”

“Yeah,” I tell her. “If I have to.”

“Oh, and your vehicle’s been impounded so that the forensics team can examine it. Like I said, dot the i’s and cross the t’s. They’ll probably have it for a couple of days. Would you like me to arrange for a cruiser to pick you up?”

I say no, that I can take my wife’s car. “What are they looking for in my van? Empty booze bottles? Heroin in the glove compartment? Hey,maybe they can lift some DNA off the steering wheel so you can solve two or three outstanding crimes while you’re at it.”

She doesn’t react, other than to say, “Okay then. Tomorrow at three.”

She closes her notebook and drops it back in her bag. Stands. Thanks me for talking with her and asks me to extend her sympathy to my wife. Then, in the doorway, she turns back and says, “You know what I think, Corby? I think you were most likely drinking and maybe drugging, too, this morning. I hope those blood test results will prove me wrong, but if I’m not and your impairment is a contributing factor to—”

She stops when she realizes Emily and her mother have come up behind her. Steps aside and lets them come in. My head is spinning. Em has just come back from seeing our son’s mangled, lifeless body. Did she just hear Sparks’s accusation? Is the blood they drew going to prove what she suspects?

I’m nauseous, lightheaded. My heart is pounding. I order myself to refocus—to forget about Sparks and take care of my wife.

“How you doing?” I ask her.

“How do youthinkI’m doing, Corby?” She rushes me and begins shoving me, cursing me, punching me. When Betsy tries to pull her away from me, she resists, then collapses against me, taking short, ragged breaths between her sobs. I put my arms around her. “How can he be dead?” she cries out. “How could you have…”

When I look over Emily’s shoulder, Detective Sparks is standing in the corridor, watching me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

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