Page 9 of She Didn't See It Coming
The name is familiar. “Does your husband know Bryden at all?”
“No.” The answer is firm, almost angry.
Jayne presses the sore spot. “I understand your husband, Henry, had some difficulties a couple of years ago.”
Now the other woman looks at her with open hostility. “That’s why you’re really here, isn’t it? I know what you people are like.”
Jayne waits, lets the silence do the work.
“He was completely innocent. He wasn’t even charged. But even so, it’s pretty much ruined our lives. So pardon me if I seem bitter.”
“Can you tell me about it?” Jayne asks.
Tracy Kemp sits rigidly, caught in a situation she can’t get out of. Finally, she says, “A woman made a false claim against him. He was arrested, but as I said, he was never charged, and they released him. There was no evidence whatsoever. She made it all up. And we’ve been paying for it ever since.”
“What did she accuse him of?” Jayne asks, although she remembers perfectly well.
At that moment, the door opens, and they turn to look at the man entering the foyer, dressed in a business suit. He drops his keys with a clatter onto the side table, then turns and seems startled to see a stranger sitting with his wife in his living room.
“Why don’t you ask him?” Tracy says coldly.
Henry Kemp walks into the living room, slowly loosening his tie. “What’s going on?” he asks, looking at Jayne, and then at his wife.
Jayne stands up and introduces herself, holding up her badge.
“What the fuck is this?” Henry says.
Tracy stands up too. Jayne sees her swallow as she addresses her husband, her eyes fixed on his. “A woman down the hall, Bryden Frost, has gone missing.”
There’s a strange, electric vibe between them, Jayne notices. Tracy is protective of her husband, but is she afraid he has something to do with Bryden’s disappearance?
“Oh, I see,” Henry says, with heavy sarcasm, turning to Jayne. “And you think I’ve got something to do with it.”
•••
Tracy watches herhusband’s face darken as he stares at the detective. She feels a knot in her throat; she can’t seem to swallow. There’s a churning in her stomach. She thought all this was behind them. How quickly the panic returns, how familiar it is.
Now Henry says to the detective, “I don’t know her, other than to see her in the hall. When did she go missing?”
“Sometime today,” the detective answers.
Her husband looks nervous, but speaks offhandedly. “I was at work all day. People can vouch for me. Ask them.”
“Where do you work?” the detective asks.
“I own a car dealership.” He pulls out his wallet and offers her a card. “As you people know perfectly well.”
“We’ll check that out,” the detective says, taking the card.
“You do that,” he says acidly.
“I’ll need a list of all your employees and their contact information,” the detective says.
Tracy feels something pressing on her windpipe. It’s fear. Fear that it’s happening all over again. The accusations. She remembers the questions, the denials, the doubt. She got through it once; she doesn’t think she can do it again. The detective glances at her and Tracy turns away, afraid the other woman can see right through her, smell her fear.
The detective waits while Henry fires up his laptop and emails her his employee list and their contact details. Tracy can’t look at the detective, and she can’t look at her husband either. The silence in the room only emphasizes the tension. She can hear the loud ticking of the clock on the sideboard, a ticking bomb counting down to something.
When she has received the emailed list, the detective thanks them for their time and stands up. Then she asks, “Mind if I have a look around?”
