Page 77 of The Wife

“So you think Jason Powell is this boyfriend she called Jay? The surfer guy saw them together?”

“Unclear. There’s a Jay of some sort, who might or might not be Powell. I wouldn’t bet my life on surfer guy as an eyewitness.”

“And yet you trust him about seeing Tom Fisher there Wednesday night.”

She recognized the inconsistency. “He seemed certain about Fisher. Powell, not so much.”

“So are you interviewing Fisher?”

“How can I? I was already stretching to say if Powell left the city to target her, we had a basis for jurisdiction. But Fisher? Their entire relationship was on the island. If my suspicions about that missing glass egg are right, that crime also happened in Long Island. Not to mention, I’m not even on duty.”

“Like that would stop you. I can spot a fellow sucker for truth and justice.”

She did, in fact, want to question Fisher herself, but she knew that she had outworn her welcome with Netter. The second she told him about that missing egg, he had kicked into a higher gear.

King was silent on the other end of the line, thinking. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, because it’s cold as hell—”

“Hell’s not cold.”

“Don’t bust my balls, okay? I hope Kerry’s fine, but shit, I’m actually glad this case is on hold. Gives me an easy out on this phone call I need to return.”

“Which is...”

“I checked my office voice mail—which I should never do on a weekend, note to self. I had a message from Eric Jordan. He said he’d heard that Kerry Lynch was missing and was wondering if we had opened a grand jury to investigate.”

Corrine let the information sink in. Eric Jordan was withNew Day. His cohost, Susanna Coleman, was best friends with Angela Powell. It couldn’t be a coincidence. If the news of Kerry’s disappearance were going to leak from someone on Long Island, she’d expect it to be to one of the local media outlets, not to a national network morning show.

“It’s coming from the wife.” Corrine explained the common link between Angela Powell and Eric Jordan. “He specifically asked about a grand jury? That seems weird. I should have known something was off when she came to the door in her pajamas.”

“I feel like you started having an entirely different conversation at some point.”

“Sorry, I’m thinking out loud. The first time I went to the Powells’ house, Angela was cool as a cucumber, even as I told her about her husband hiring a prostitute. There was something almost Stepford-y about her. The house was impeccable, despite a teenage son under the roof and her husband in the middle of an investigation. But when I showed up Thursday, she came to the door in her pajamas in the middle of the afternoon.”

The more Corrine thought about it, the more convinced she was that Angela Powell had been “off” that day. She’d explained her appearance by saying she had a migraine, but Angela didn’t seem like the type to reveal any kind of personal detail—let alone a weakness—to a stranger, let alone a police detective investigating her husband.

“A second ago, it sounded like you thought Kerry and Tom Fisher might actually have been framing Powell all along, just like he claimed. Now you think Powell’s wife is lying about his alibi.”

“I’m not sure what’s going on at this point, except that Eric Jordan’s phone call to you was no coincidence. He mentioned a grand jury? That almost seems like a suggestion. Maybe Angela has something to say, and her friend Susanna knows it will take a grand jury subpoena to get her to say it.” Corrine had been telling herself that Angela’s background had nothing to do with Jason’s case, but now she was wondering whether Angela might be more submissive than she let on.

She passed two exits before King spoke again. “As far as I’m concerned, my case is on hold. Hopefully, by the time it’s not, we’ll have some answers, one way or the other.”

“And what if Powell’s been telling the truth the whole time?”

“Are you fucking with me? You were just telling me to open a grand jury to question his wife.”

“Because I know we’re missing something. I just don’t know what it is yet.”

“Work your other cases, Duncan. You really drove out to Long Island on your day off?”

“Port Washington. It’s barely past Queens.”

“You’re still making me feel bad. I’m going to go drink a bottle of wine and tell myself that Kerry Lynch is on an island somewhere, reading a book.”

48

By Sunday, the realtor had decided to list the carriage house for $7.5 million, half a million more than we paid for it. We would end up losing more than that to her commission, legal fees, and taxes, but if it all worked out as planned, we’d have about $1.7 million in equity to show for it—all of Jason’s book money and then some—half of which would be mine, at least legally.

Jason had handled the news exactly as I expected: objectively and rationally. We were divorcing on paper only. From the moment he told me that his DNA would match whatever evidence Kerry Lynch had provided to the police, I had said I would stand by him, and we’d figure out where he and I stood later. This, objectively and rationally, was consistent with that plan.