Thread of Truth, стр. 33
“Was he mad about that?”
“He never came,” she said. “I never saw or heard from him again.”
“Because that's when he disappeared.”
She nodded. “Guess so.”
I looked down at the desktop for a moment. Everything she'd just told me changed nearly everything I knew. And not for the better.
“Is this where I'm supposed to beg you to not go to the police?” she asked. “Because I'll beg. I can't pay you a dime because Desmond took everything I had, but I'll beg.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” I asked, ignoring her words.
“I honestly don't know,” she said. “It was before the last series of emails because he never came by.”
“And you never saw him after that?”
“No. Why?”
“He was blackmailing you,” I said. “You paid him. You had an affair. He threatened you. Then he disappeared and was killed. Do you not see the connection?”
She stared at me.
She really didn't.
Or she was a great actress.
I studied her for a long moment. “Did you kill Desmond?”
TWENTY NINE
“You can't be serious,” she said after a long moment of silence.
“I'm very serious,” I told her. “You had a relationship with him. It ended. He was blackmailing you and you weren't very happy about it. Then he ends up dead after being hit by a car.” I let her think about that for a few seconds. “That's called motivation. If you own a car, then that's called means.”
She stared at me for a long time. Then she cleared her throat. “Listen to me very carefully. I didn't touch him and I didn't kill him. You can make whatever kind of connection you want, but I had nothing to do with whatever happened to him. I was still waiting for him to walk through that door to collect his goddamned money when I found out he was dead.” She blinked, turned, and walked around to the other side of her desk. She jerked open a drawer, pulled out an envelope, and slammed the drawer closed. She walked over to me and dropped the envelope on the desk. “I was going to pay him.”
I flipped open the flap on the envelope. Twenty and fifty dollar bills were bound together by a thick rubber band.
“I haven't even had a chance to take it back to the bank,” she snapped.
I closed the flap on the envelope and slid it to the edge of the desk. “Alright.”
She snatched the envelope off the desk and tossed it back onto hers. “And yet you're still not convinced.”
I wasn't. Up until that point, I'd been treating Desmond's death as nothing more than a random hit and run because I hadn't seen a reason that anyone might've wanted him dead. Now I knew that he'd been blackmailing Christine Gonzowski. I knew there'd been tension between them, and when she'd been pushed to the brink, he'd been in an accident that had taken his life. That seemed incredibly coincidental. It was possible that they weren't related, but Desmond's death was starting to look and feel a whole lot different to me.
She pulled a black day planner from her desk. She flipped it open and scanned the pages. Then she tossed it at me. “Look at last week.”
I found the dates and the week. “You had faculty meetings.”
“I don't know when his accident happened, but I was most likely here,” she said. “I had meetings every afternoon last week. My attendance can be verified.”
I pushed the day planner back in her direction. “Okay.”
She stared at me for a long moment. She wasn't scared any longer. She was pissed.
“You want to walk outside and take a look at my car?” she asked. “Check the bumper? Because I have no problem with that.” She shook her head. “I was furious with Desmond, but I didn't touch him. Ever.”
Her adamancy was compelling. “It's not for me to check your car. But I'm guessing the police will want to.”
For the first time in a few minutes, her demeanor cracked. The anger slipped away and she looked scared again.
“I'm going to have to tell them everything,” she said, her voice strained.
I nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”
She sat down at the desk closest to me, her body folding into the seat like she couldn't stand any longer. “I'm going to go to jail.”
I didn't say anything because I didn't know what was going to happen to her. But I didn't think she was wrong.
She laughed and shook her head. “I can't believe this is where I am. Such a stupid mistake, and it blew up my whole life.” She glanced at me. “But I didn't kill him. I may have done some other awful things in my life, but I didn't kill him and I have no idea what happened to him.”
“Then tell that to the police,” I told her. “Be honest and upfront and don't make them probe for answers. And get a lawyer.”
“A lawyer,” she said. “Sure. With all my extra money.”
“I can give you a name or two, if you want.”
“No thanks,” she said. “I'll figure it out.”
“Okay.” There wasn’t much else to say.
“And I know you don't believe me, but I don't give a shit,” she said.
“Doesn't matter what I believe.”
“But you're going to tell the cops what we've talked about.”
I nodded. “I am, yes.”
“Which means you don't believe me.”
“I would've told them anyway.”
“Told them what?”
“That you had sex with a student,” I said. “Regardless of what happened to Desmond, I'm obligated to tell authorities that I know about that.”
She frowned. “Good to know.”
I didn't care that she was angry with me. I didn't know the details of their relationship and I didn't want to know them. But she was a teacher who'd entered into a sexual relationship with a student. That was a crime, and I didn't care who the pursuer was or under what terms it occurred.
She put her head in her hands. “Do you call them now?”
“When I leave.”
“Well, don't let me keep you,” she said.
I slid out of the desk. “I'll tell them