The Perfect Wife Page 8

  Kimberly stared at her without speaking for a good five seconds. When she finally spoke, it was slowly and with a coldness that was new to Jessie.

  “I think you made a mistake,” she said. “Just because someone sleeps in the nude doesn’t mean something untoward is going on.”

  “They weren’t sleeping, Kimberly.”

  “Were they having sex?” she demanded.

  “No.”

  “Were they even together? Couldn’t one of them have gone upstairs and the other have followed soon after, not even realizing the first person was up there? Did they acknowledge each other? Are you sure Morgan even saw her?”

  “No,” Jessie said, surprised at the cross-examination. “I mean, it was kind of far away. But they went in the same general direction in the same general timeframe.”

  “Upstairs, you mean? Where all the bedrooms are?” she asked sarcastically. “So she could have gone to her room and him to ours. Did you see him go into her room?”

  “It was dark. I couldn’t see that far. And I had just woken up.”

  “So are you now saying you’re not certain of what you saw?” Kimberly asked, her eyes blazing. “Because this is quite a thing to lay on a wife and mother if you’re not certain.”

  “Kimberly, I’m certain that I saw them both walk up the stairs, naked, one soon after the other. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “That’s all you’re saying. Just that bit?” Kimberly replied, her disdain evident. “What if I told you that Rachelle sleeps in the nude and that we’re okay with it because our kids are too young to be bothered by it? And what if I told you that Morgan has a thyroid condition that makes him very warm at night and he sleeps in the nude too so he doesn’t overheat? And what if I told you that he is a sleepwalker? Could you see if he was awake or if he was even aware that Rachelle was anywhere near him?”

  “I couldn’t tell any of that,” Jessie said, not sure what else to say.

  “Well, now that I’ve shared all kinds of personal details about my family life to ease your concerns that my husband isn’t cheating on me, do you feel better?”

  “I was just trying to help,” Jessie said lamely.

  “How did that go for you? Working out well?”

  “I’m sorry, Kimberly. It’s just…if it was me I’d want all the information.”

  “I already had all the information, Jessie. You didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, except that you’re not the person I thought you were. Please leave.”

  Jessie, bewildered, walked toward the front door. As she opened it, she turned to try one more time. Kimberly was right behind her with the box of doughnuts, which she tossed at her. One of them shot out of the box and hit Jessie in the chest before falling to the ground. The jelly filling exploded, getting all over the floor and her shoes.

  “Kimberly, please give me a chance to—”

  Her neighbor slammed the door in her face. The fallen doughnut, now crushed, smeared on the front step. Jessie thought it looked almost like blood.

  *

  Still stunned and confused, Jessie called Kyle at work. He sounded harried so she tried to explain quickly. When she was done, he didn’t respond for so long that she thought the line had gone dead.

  “Kyle, are you there?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to wrap my head around why you would go over to our neighbor’s house after only living here for days and tell her you think her husband is having an affair. She brought us brownies. You brought her allegations of infidelity. Does that seem like a fair trade?”

  “I was hoping you’d assume the role of supportive husband here,” Jessie said quietly.

  Kyle sighed deeply.

  “I want to, Jess. But you’re making it kind of hard. I’ve got a work emergency. And you call me to tell me you blew up our relationship with our neighbor. And from what she says, you may have had the whole thing wrong.”

  “I don’t think so. It felt like she was covering to me.”

  “Jessie, what are you talking about? Covering? This isn’t a case to be solved. It’s a real-life family.”

  “I know that, but—”

  “Listen,” he interrupted. “Even if it’s true and he is screwing the babysitter, why is it our concern? Maybe she’s nailing the gardener. Maybe they’ve got an open marriage. We don’t know about their lives. And as far as I’m concerned, her explanation sounded convincing, especially since you’re not even sure you were awake.”

  “I am sure.”

  “Really?” he asked. “You told me you switched up your meds recently, right? Are you certain that couldn’t be messing with you?”

  “That’s not a side effect of it.”

  “I thought different drugs affected people differently. And you’ve been taking this for a couple of days. Can you tell me, without a shadow of a doubt, that this might not be a chemical thing?”

  Jessie didn’t respond. The truth was she wasn’t sure about anything anymore. She doubted the medication had any unusual effect on her. But was she positive? No. She had seen something last night. But had she just misinterpreted something innocent? Had she let her permanently suspicious mind take her to the darkest possible conclusion rather than one that was more innocuous? She just wasn’t sure.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  “Listen, honey,” he said, his voice immediately softer. “I want to help you with this. And maybe we can smooth things over. But for now, while my business is in a mini-crisis, can I just ask you not to alienate any more neighbors today? Is that a reasonable request?”

  “It is,” she said.

  “Thank you. I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she said, then hung up. She walked upstairs and crawled into bed, where she spent most of the next two days.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  She would have stayed in bed even longer if not for the practicum. But Tuesday was the day she was supposed to meet Professor Hosta at DSH-Metro in Norwalk to visit NRD. It was the first thing in forty-eight hours that got her excited enough to shower.

  As she made the forty-five-minute drive, she unsuccessfully tried not to think about the last two days. Kyle had gone over to the Miner house in the hope of calming things down with Kimberly. But she wasn’t interested and told him not to expect any more brownie deliveries.

  Despite that, they had somehow been accepted into Club Deseo. Between the resentment of a current club member and Jessie’s own combative responses to her grilling, she’d been sure they’d get rejected. But somehow, they’d gotten in.

  She was tempted to tell Kyle she didn’t want to accept it, especially after the interrogation by Marguerite Brennan. These weren’t people she wanted to hang around with. But she knew how important he felt it was for work. He’d already locked in multiple clients through the place. And after blowing up things with their neighbor, she didn’t feel like she was in a position to be giving ultimatums. So she held her tongue.

  It wouldn’t be official until the fall, when they were formally presented with their invitation. But they were provisional members until then, which allowed them access to the club without a chaperone.

  In recognition, Teddy had given Kyle a new money clip. It was ridiculous—gold and oversized with a “$” symbol on it that looked like something Gordon Gekko would own circa 1987. Despite how silly Kyle looked when he pulled it out of his pocket, Jessie said nothing. She didn’t want to bring him down when he was clearly so happy.

  In fact, Kyle was giddy, already planning golf outings and how to maximize the upcoming autumn parties to his business advantage. He seemed largely oblivious to Jessie’s blues. Either that or he hoped that by refusing to acknowledge them, they’d go away on their own. It was as if their disagreements of recent days were all water under the bridge. He seemed to hold no grudge, which made Jessie feel even guiltier for clinging to hers.

  As she pulled into the hospital parking lot, she tried to push all those thought
s out of her head. She would need to have complete focus if she was going to effectively interact with the patients here, especially in the NRD unit.

  Professor Hosta was waiting by his car and waved for her to pull up next to him. She rolled down her window when she got close.

  “Good to see you, Ms. Hunt,” he said. “There’s a security gate for NRD access and they have a separate entrance. You’ll need to follow me this time. We’ll get you your own pass for future visits.”

  He got in his car and led the way. After a brief conversation with the security guard at the gate, they were allowed to pass. As she drove by, Jessie noticed the guard was armed.

  They parked in a nondescript, dusty dirt lot at the back of the facility and walked to the door of another gate that surrounded the entire building, at which Hosta swiped a card. It buzzed and they passed through a small, undernourished garden courtyard, which led to the actual exterior doors of the building. It also required a pass card swipe. The same process was repeated at a set of interior doors before they finally entered the actual lobby area of the unit.

  Once inside, they both had to turn over their personal items and go through a full body millimeter wave scanner like the ones airport security used as an alternative to metal detectors. Then both were patted down by additional security, also armed. Only then did they get their stuff back.

  “So, they’re pretty casual here then?” Jessie said acidly when the process was finally complete.

  “Don’t joke about security in this place, Ms. Hunt,” Hosta said humorlessly. “Since NRD became operational seven years ago, they’ve only had two incidents. But combined, they resulted in the death of four guards and one inmate. They take precautionary measures deadly seriously here and so should you.”

  “Got it,” Jessie said. She hadn’t heard about the incidents but that was no surprise. Since hardly anyone was aware this place existed, it wasn’t like there would be news reports about security breakdowns. She couldn’t help but wonder who the inmate who’d died was but forced herself not to ask.

  “We’re going into the prep area, where you’ll meet our security liaison,” Hosta said. “Just to give you a sense of how vital folks here feel about taking precautions, the officer in charge is a former Army Ranger. You’ll get further instructions in there. Please remember, you are only the second student allowed in this unit. It is an enormous privilege which can be revoked at any time. If that happens, you risk failing your practicum and not getting your degree. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  “All right. Let’s go in.”

  He nodded at one of the security guards, who buzzed them through an area marked by a sign with the bland title “Transitional Prep.” Apparently not even Hosta’s pass card could get them into every part of the facility. Once inside, Jessie was surprised at their liaison. They were met by a woman with dark blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun. She looked to be about Jessie’s age, maybe a few years older.

  She was shorter than Jessie, about five foot seven and clearly well-built, even with the security uniform hiding it a bit. Her shoulders were broad and Jessie noticed that her exposed forearms were rippled with muscle even without flexing. She guessed the woman weighed about 140 pounds, though she doubted any of it was fat.

  The woman was attractive despite a thick scar under her left eye and pockmarks on her face and neck that stood out against her tan skin. They looked less like acne remnants than small burn marks, as if someone had put out cigarette butts on each individual spot. Jessie wondered if that was how she got them. Her eyes were gray and alert. She stepped forward and extended her hand.

  “Hello, Ms. Hunt,” she said. “I’m Officer Katherine Gentry. I’ll be your security liaison for this visit.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Jessie said, reaching down to shake her hand. Gentry’s grip was firm but not intimidating.

  “Good to see you again, Professor,” Officer Gentry said, nodding at Hosta.

  “And you too, Officer,” he replied. “I’ve told Ms. Hunt that you’ll be giving her the lowdown on what to expect.”

  “That’s right. Here’s how it will go. Both of you will change into facility scrubs. Ms. Hunt, you will also wash off all your makeup using the cleanser you’ll find in there. I’d recommend not wearing any for future visits. You should also remove your wedding ring. There are changing rooms connected to this area. After that, we’ll enter the unit. Since this is your first visit, Ms. Hunt, you’ll just be observing. It can take some time to get comfortable with the procedure and the environment here.”

  “I’m not okay with that,” Jessie interjected, ignoring Hosta’s surprised expression, which she caught out of the corner of her eye. “I didn’t fight through almost an hour of traffic on the freeway just to observe. I have a finite number of visits scheduled for this practicum and I need to make the most of every one. I want to start interviewing patients today.”

  Gentry looked at Hosta, who shrugged as if to say, “Your call.” Jessie was surprised for a second before realizing that in this place, the security officer in charge must be authorized to overrule any decision made by medical personnel.

  “Ms. Hunt,” Gentry said, her voice low and calm. “You may notice that in here, we call the residents inmates rather than patients, the term used on the outside. Do you know why that is?”

  “I’m guessing it’s to remind everyone how dangerous these guys are.”

  “That’s correct. Once we start using the term ‘patient,’ sympathy inevitably creeps in. And with that comes vulnerability. Do you know why we have visitors change into scrubs and women remove makeup before entering the unit?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because,” Gentry said, “in addition to being incredibly dangerous, these inmates are often frighteningly intelligent. They’re not the garden-variety criminals you’re used to. If they’re here, they’re a special kind of evil. Some of them will use any personal detail they uncover to manipulate you. They use the clothes you wear, your jewelry, your fragrance, your makeup to discern your weaknesses. The less they know about you the better.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because I want you to appreciate that going into an interview with one of them cold, without having had the opportunity to observe beforehand, puts you at risk. It’s not called the Non-Rehabilitative Division for nothing.”

  “I get that,” Jessie said. “But you need to appreciate something about me. In order to really understand these people, I need to engage with them without any preconceptions. I want to interact with them for the first time without a filter, so that I can get a genuine sense of them as they react to me. I can better get in their heads when I’m in the room.”

  “Have you ever interviewed a resident of a non-rehabilitative facility before?” Gentry asked. “Have you ever interrogated a serial killer on your own, with only a glass window separating you from him?”

  “No.”

  “Then what makes you think you could possibly be ready for what they’re capable of in person?”

  “I said I’d never interviewed one of them in a facility,” Jessie said coolly. “That doesn’t mean I haven’t interacted with a serial killer up close. Let me assure you, Officer Gentry, I’ve been face to face with evil. I know what it looks like. I know how it moves and twists and writhes around inside a person. But I can only see that when I can get up close and personal. I’m not going to understand how these guys think, how to stop others like them, from behind some hidden observation mirror. I want to be in the room.”

  Gentry stared at her for a long time before speaking. Jessie could feel her evaluating, calculating, appraising. Finally, she seemed to make some kind of internal decision.

  “Get changed,” she said. “We don’t have all day.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ten minutes later, after Jessie had changed into scrubs and signed a non-disclosure agreement so detailed that she worried that even mentioning the hospital to K
yle might get her arrested, they left the transitional prep area. The three of them passed through another security door and walked down a long, dimly lit corridor as Gentry talked them through the particulars of the unit.

  She explained the procedure for interaction with inmates: never touch the glass, never reveal personal details about yourself, never make promises, never interact without a security officer in the room, and about a half dozen other “nevers” Jessie couldn’t remember.

  She noted that sessions were limited to fifteen minutes, unless otherwise specifically authorized. If instructed to leave the room, she was to do so without argument or delay. Refusal to adhere to any procedure could result in a permanent ban from the premises.

  They reached the end of the hall, where another door buzzed open. Jessie glanced up to see a camera staring back down at her, one of dozens she’d noted throughout the complex. They entered a security station that reminded her of a nurses’ station in a hospital.

  Three men and one woman, all armed, looked up briefly before resuming their duties. Two of them were studying security monitors. One was inputting information into a terminal. The fourth, a large Hispanic man, scribbled something on a paper attached to a clipboard before standing up and approaching them. At full height, he was even more imposing. At about six foot six and around 250 pounds, he looked like a pro football linebacker.

  “How goes it, Kat?” he asked Officer Gentry in a cheerful voice.

  “Just bringing in some fresh meat, Cortez,” she replied. “How are things with the Fab Five?”

  “Same old, same old, I guess. Gimbel, Stokes, and De la Rosa are napping. Jackson is in restraints, on account of trying to bite through his wrists again. Crutchfield is working on the lyrics to one of his little ditties.”

  “So NRD only currently houses five inmates?” Jessie asked before being formally introduced.

  “We have ten rooms,” Cortez answered, eyeing her with curiosity. “But I’m perfectly happy staying half full. Fewer residents means fewer psychos.”