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A knock at the door in the middle of the day wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Alison got at least two or three a week- mailmen with deliveries, door-to-door salesmen, her fellow PTA members needing her input. Generally, she regards these intrusions as minor inconveniences, or amusing anecdotes to share with Larry when he comes home. She’d expected someone like Gina, perhaps, stopping by to ask about the next book club meeting or if she wanted to arrange a playdate for Diana sometime.
“Mrs. Gordon?” Asks the policeman on her doorstep. He smiles politely looks almost apologetic for intruding on her day like this. Almost. There’s a shrewd glint in the way he looks at her that has her immediately a little on edge. She dismisses it, or at least tries to. He’s a policeman, she reminds herself. One of the good guys.
“Yes,” she answers, looking past him to see if there had been an accident or anything else she might need to know about. “How can I help you, officer?”
“Detective. Detective Tapp. I just have a few questions for you about your husband,” he says, and for a brief moment, the shrewd look is replaced by something harder, something cold and searching. “May I come in?” She rubs at her arm, trying and failing to invent a reason to refuse him. She opens the door wider, making room for him to step inside; he brushes past her, looking around the little entrance way, studying his surroundings.
“What’s this about? Is Larry... is he ok?” She leads him to the living room, intending for him to sit down, but instead he gives himself a little tour of the room, looking over the shelves and pictures on the wall with some interest. He doesn’t answer her at first, and Alison can feel her patience straining already.
“Oh, he’s fine,” the detective says, finally turning back to her. “He’s a person of interest in an ongoing investigation.” He says it so casually, as though he hasn’t just dropped a live grenade on Alison’s quiet life.
“I don’t quite understand,” she says, crossing her arms loosely. “What’s going on? What happened to my husband? Is he in some sort of trouble?” Without meaning to, she’s injected some of her Mother tone into her voice, the same tone she uses when Diana drags her feet getting ready for school or pokes at her vegetables on her plate too long. Tapp looks amused, as though she’s reminded him of some private joke.
“He was brought in earlier today under suspicion of involvement in the Jigsaw Killer case,” he says. Multiple thoughts occur at once. One, she’s heard of the Jigsaw Killer. He’s on the news more often than not lately, always accompanied by rumors of a city-wide curfew being implemented that never comes to pass. Two, there’s a familiar undertone to his words, one she’s heard so often at PTA meetings: this man thinks her husband is guilty but isn’t saying it outright. But why?
“Larry?” she asks, uncrossing her arms and putting a hand to her mouth, exaggerating the shock she feels. “My husband would never- officer, you’ve definitely got the wrong man. Larry could never...”
“We have our reasons to suspect him, Mrs. Gordon, though I do admire your faith in your husband.” That’s a lie. One doesn’t successfully navigate the treacherous waters of dealing with PTA moms, church moms, and dance moms without learning to read people, and Alison does it frequently. Detective Tapp is watching her closely, and she schools her expression to one of concerned housewife. “How much do you know about where he spends his time when he’s not at home or working?”
“He spends nearly all his time at work,” she says, careful not to let any of the bitterness slip into her voice. “Doctors have long hours, of course. He’s almost always here when he’s not working. Once every couple of weeks he goes out to eat at this place across town.”
“I see,” the detective says, looking back at one of the pictures on the wall. It’s one of her and Larry, just after their engagement, and just before he began his residency. Before life had gotten truly difficult. “Has he ever given you the impression that he might hurt you?” Alison’s shock is genuine this time.
“Excuse me?” She bristles at the accusation, offended by the very notion. Does he think she would tolerate something like that? “Lawrence would never…"
“Of course, of course,” he says, clearly unconvinced. His attitude is starting to really piss her off. He seems to realize this, too, as he holds up his hands in surrender. “Standard questions, Mrs. Gordon. Domestic violence is often linked to cases like this.”
“Then that should tell you that you definitely have the wrong person,” she says, biting back the other, not so polite things she wants to add. “Lawrence is a good man, detective. He’s honest and-” The detective chuckles, quietly, like he was trying to hide it. “Something funny?”
“Honest, huh?” He smiles humorlessly and goes silent for a long moment. Alison is on the verge of asking him to leave when he suddenly stops smiling and fixes her with another cold stare. “When we asked him where he was on the night of the latest victim’s death, he told us he was out seeing someone. A woman. Did you know that?”
“You’re... he wouldn’t,” she says, trying desperately to maintain her composure. “I don’t believe you.”
“We checked his alibi, of course. I’m afraid he was telling the truth.” There’s an element of truth in his voice, she notes absently. Which part he means honestly, however, she’s not sure. Her thoughts are like marbles on glass, skittering around out of control. This could be a trick, just a lie to try and get some kind of confession out of her. A tactic to try and shake her faith in her husband, the man she’d promised to spend her life with. She grits her teeth and glares up at the detective, her swirling emotions redirecting into fury at his audacity to stand in her living room and hurl such accusations so cruelly.
“I’m sure you think so,” she says, keeping her tone even. “Do you have any other crimes you’d like to accuse my husband of, or can we call it a day?” Cop or not, she’s had it up to here with the detective. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He bows his head briefly, heading to the door with her right behind him.
“One last thing, Mrs. Gordon,” he says, stopping just inside the doorframe. “I misspoke earlier. He wasn’t brought in earlier today. It was last week. Must have gotten my days mixed up.” He gives her a knowing look, then turns and finally steps outside. “Have a good day, ma’am.” She shuts the door with a little more force than is necessary and leans against the door, running an unsteady hand through her hair as the detective’s words echo in her ears. Last week. Last week. Larry had been questioned last week. And he didn’t tell her.
Suddenly his behavior over the past few days made so much sense. The flowers, the early returns from work, the new teddy bear for Diana. The attempts at rekindling their sex life. She thought he’d had some kind of epiphany, that he’d been reminded of how much she and their daughter meant to him. That things were finally going to get better, be like they were before. She gives a short, mocking laugh at herself and shakes her head. When Larry comes home tonight, she’ll just have to ask him. He wouldn’t lie to her. Right?