Page 82 of I Did Something Bad
I clock three separate empty mugs. She follows my gaze and gives a loud sigh. “Charlie says even myhairsmells of caffeine these days and that it’s like he’s cuddling a coffeemaker in bed at night. But hey, it’s either this or a concoction of highly illegal drugs, so—” She widens her eyes.
I snort out a laugh. “Things still good with Charlie?” I ask, aware that I’m stalling.
“I mean, it’s been three years and I’m still not bored of him so I suppose that’s a good sign. Anyway—” She steeples her fingers on the desk and shoots me a big smile. “What’s up? What’s brought you here at this godforsaken hour?”
Maintaining my own smile, I take in the deepest breath my lungscan contain. In a way, it feelsfreeingin this moment to know that whatever happens next is beyond my control. After weeks of always running, always trying tofigure things out,tostay ahead,now I can let go. “It’s… about that Australian man. The one that they found in the park.” Kira lifts her head in anahgesture. “Kira, I need to—”
“You sneaky little weasel, ambushing me without an appointment, asking about Charlie,” she says. For a moment, my heart drops, thinking that somehow she already knows. Except, her mouth is still quirked upward. “Okay, okay, fine. Look, I can’t give you an exclusive quote or interview, and I don’t know who told you that we were releasing this today but—” she says, shoulders dropping in a surrendering sigh. “Since you got up this early and came all this way, I suppose you’ve earned the right to read the press release first.”
I blink. “Wh—”
“But can youpleasetell whoever your editor is to not publish the story until we’ve officially released it to the public?” She’s talking at her usual pace, which is approximately 150 miles a minute. “You can break it first, that’s fine, but if a site publishes it before we’ve sent it out, then my boss andtheirbosses will be asking me what happened and I am already three coffees in at eightA.M.and Ireallydo think I will explode if I drink more than five cups today, so just hold off on pressing the publish or submit button or whatever it is that you need to press to make a story live, yeah? I’ve just finished drafting it, hence the coffee, and Big Boss is going to look at it when she gets in in a few hours and then we’ll send it out so you should be good to go by end of day.”
“Good to—”
Before I can finish the question, Kira logs back into her laptop and hands it over to me. The first thing I catch is the official Australian embassy logo at the top center. Willing my brain to focus, I speed-read the whole statement. When I’m done, I read it another time, tomake sure. Afterward, the only sentence I can form is “It was… a heart attack.”
I lean back in my chair, fingers gripping the table’s edge, but Kira doesn’t notice because she’s busy retrieving the laptop and putting it back to sleep.
“It was a heart attack?” I’m asking the question more for myself than her. “He wasn’t… that’s it? He died of a heart attack? There was no foul play?” I recall the exact phrasing in the letter. “I thought… the police were involved?”
“Don’t you ever say I never do anything for you.” Kira crosses her arms and gives me a devilish smile. “Basically, at first, the coroner said cause of death was blunt force trauma. But when the victim is a foreigner, it’s usually protocol for the relevant embassy to hire their own separate coroner and perform another autopsy.” I vaguely nod, feeling like I understand what she’s saying, and also like I don’t. “Andourcoroner determined that the cause of death was actually a heart attack. I mean, the dude’s liver was absolutely wrecked from alcohol consumption and it’s not like he was even close to being in the best physical condition, so it makes sense.”
“But… the police,” I point out.
“That,” she says, widening her eyes, “is because at first, we were like,Okay, well, that’s too bad, but what can you do? Guess we’ll start preparing the paperwork to fly him back home.Butthenthe authorities here were insulted that we’d said their coroner had fucked up. So then—” Her eyes look to the heavens for strength. “We had to get in athirdcoroner to determine who was correct. Because who cares about how much paperworkthatrequires, right? And who cares thatIhave to read through every single sheet of paper? But anyway, yesterday, we finally got that sorted andthatcoroner agreed that while therewasblunt force trauma to his head due to the fall, which in turn was tragic butultimately ruled an accident, especially given his post-mortem blood alcohol tests—but anyway, despite that, itwasthe heart attack that killed him. There was a small kerfuffle I think with some trauma in his ear as well, but they cleared that as having occurred in a separate incident. Honestly, it sounds like this guy was either always chasing down trouble, or trouble was chasing him. But now that’s it. Case closed. The local police signed off on the closing paperwork last night. Praise Jesus or Buddha or Zeus or whatever entity you worship. I’m telling you, Khin, I am going to go to bed at eight tonight.”
“That’s… it?” I ask, my whole body trembling on this side of her massive table. “That’s… the end?”
“Yep,” Kira says, and reaches over to gulp down the last of the coffee in the mug closest to her. “I know it’s not nearly as juicy as murder, but that’s it. The. End.”
Nineteen
“I didn’t kill him!” I yell as I slam my front door. Kicking off my shoes, I rush to make a right at the end of the hallway, then dig in my heels when I find Tyler sitting on my couch. I look over at my closed bedroom door, then back at him. “How did you—”
He holds up a bobby pin. “Found this in your bathroom.”
“Oh, so you playonebodyguard role and now you’re a master at picking locks?” I ask with a gentle mockery that freezes when he doesn’t smile back. “Tyler?” I ask, stepping closer, although there’s a part of my brain that warns me not to gettooclose.
“Hold up.” He raises a hand, gaze widening. “You didn’t kill him?” he asks, but it’s like he’s talking to me from the other side of a glass pane where I can see and hear him as usual, but it’soff. “What happened then?” he prompts when I don’t reply. And again, I can tell he’s shocked and also relieved, but something is pulling him back from feeling the full extent of those emotions. It’s like he’s a muted, less expressive version of himself.
“It… was a heart attack.” I’m still studying him for a clue as to the U-turn in his mood. Is hethatupset that I tricked him and locked him in? “I went to the embassy, and my friend Kira showed me a press release that they’re sending out today. The coroner ruled that the cause of death was actually a heart attack. Tyler,” I say, attempting to infuse joy into the heavy air. “That’s it. It’s over.”
He gives a short smile, nods, and the anchor in my gut drops lower.Everymove he makes is making my senses tingle. “Good. That’s… really good.”
“Hey.” With a few brisk steps, I sit down next to him and take his hand—except he stands up and walks away. “I’m really, really sorry about locking you in.” I jump to my feet, knowing nothing good is going to happen after I ask this question. “How mad are you at me?”
You’d think that by now, I would have developed the ability to foresee huge life-shattering moments coming from a mile away. Except that’s not how it works, is it? Because most of the time, life proceeds in a steady, unrecognizable blur, and you’re unable to identify a big life-shattering moment until you are firmly in it. Sometimes it’s sitting down for a dinner with your husband that starts with you asking “How’d your day go?” and ending with him saying “My lawyer will call you tomorrow” as he rolls out his pre-packed suitcase from behind the shoe cabinet. Another time, it starts out as a casual night stroll in the park and ends with you coming face-to-face with a stalker you didn’t know you had.
And sometimes, it begins with you and the man you love, alone in your apartment, his brows furrowed, hands, you now notice, clenched into fists at his sides while he stands in front of the door opposite your bedroom. The door that you always keep closed but is now ajar, and suddenly you feel like those people on the beach who don’t realize a tsunami has landed until it’s too late.
“What’s this room?” he asks.
“That’s my office.”
Another single nod. “I thought so. And the board? The one above the table? What’s that?”
“The—” And I pause. Because I know. Becauseheknows.
