Page 36 of The Wife

“The way you’re talking about it so casually,” I said after he had left. “A trial. DNA. Consent. This is my husband. We don’t even know for sure what he’s accused of.”

“Sorry. You know me. I’m blunt. I meant in the abstract. I was trying to make you feel better by breaking down the worst-case scenario. But of course it won’t go to trial. It’s going to be fine.”

“There’s no consent to argue, Susanna. Jason told me that nothing happened between him and this Kerry person.”

“As long as he didn’t say that to the police. I assumed he invoked his rights to a lawyer.”

I didn’t answer.

She put her fork down, clearly frustrated. “Jesus, someone as smart as Jason should know you never talk to the police.Ever.”

“He didn’t see the harm. He works with the woman. End of story.”

“It doesn’t matter. And again, I’m talking in the abstract again, if he—notJason—but if a man in that position said nothing, he could always argue consent if the police matched his DNA. But if they find DNA evidence after the man denied any kind of encounter? He’s caught in a lie.” Once again, she saw from my expression that she’d gone too far. “But obviously, in this case, it’s fine. If Jason says there’s no relationship, there’s no relationship.”

I made a point to ask what was going on with her. I hate it when people monopolize a conversation with their own problems, no matter how big they are. She told me about two stories she was working on. A woman had left her husband for a man she met on the Internet, only to learn that the “other man” was an eighteen-year-old, not the forty-year-old executive he claimed to be. So far, the woman was standing by her new boyfriend, claiming that his deception was no different than shaving a few pounds from the physical description of an online bio. The second story was about the latest methods for obtaining passports, social security numbers, and other official documents based on stolen identities. “People never get tired of following the cat-and-mouse games between white hats and black hats.”

“Maybe your smitten lady can get a fake ID for her teenage boyfriend. While you’re at it, save your research for me. If my face lands on a tabloid cover, I’m out of here.”

My attempt at humor fell flat.

“You’re worried about being discovered,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

I told her about the comment posted onThe Pink Spotblog. “I knew that girl back home. She’d say anything to put me in my place.”

“Please, that website’s got like fifty followers.”

“Does that really matter? One viral tweet could change everything.”

“Trust me. No legitimate media outlet’s going to go there without your permission. If I have to call every contact I have in the business, I’ll shut it down.”

Susanna had just insisted on paying the bill when my cell phone rang. It was Jason. I made my way to the front entrance and hit accept.

“Hey there. I’m about to leave lunch with Susanna.”

“The police were here. They had a warrant.”

I felt the steak tartare churn in my stomach. “Are you under arrest?”

“No. It was a search warrant.”

“Did you call Olivia? What are they searching for?”

“Angela, we need to talk.”

24

He had been having an affair with her, and the police had arrived at our house to collect a sample of his DNA. The reason he had summoned me home was to break this piece of news to me in person.

Kerry wasn’t merely a client contact. He had slept with her during that “lunchtime” meeting at her house last week. I didn’t ask for every detail of the relationship, but it obviously wasn’t the first time. He warned me to expect a DNA match.

I was the one who insisted that we tell Spencer. I didn’t want our son to hear about it from some kid checking his iPhone at school.

When it became clear that the matter wasn’t up for debate, Jason wanted to be the one to explain it to him. We finally decided to speak to him together.

We started by assuring him once again that his father was innocent of the allegations against him. Jason began to lay out Kerry’s motive for discrediting him, but it was too much detail for Spencer to absorb. He knew we were both in his room, standing above him as he was perched on the edge of his bed, for a reason. Something bad was about to happen. He didn’t need excuses. He needed to know that his world was safe.

“The police will have evidence that links your father to this woman,” I finally said. “Physical evidence. But what she’s saying about him isn’t true.”

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