Harlan Coben - The Final Detail

“His marriage,” Enos said. “That was the big thing, I think. You know Bonnie?”

“Yes.”

“Clu loved her very much.”

“He had an odd way of showing it.”

Enos smiled. “Sleeping with all those women. I think he did it more to hurt himself than anyone else.”

“That sounds like another one of those big, fat rationalizations, Enos. Clu may have made self-destruction an art form. But that's not an excuse for what he put her through.”

“I think he'd agree with that. But Clu hurt himself most of all.”

“Don't kid yourself. He hurt Bonnie too.”

“Yes, you're right, of course. But he still loved her. When she threw him out, it hurt him so much. You have no idea.”

“What can you tell me about their breakup?”

Another hesitation. “Not much to tell. Clu felt betrayed, angry.”

“You know that Clu had fooled around before.”

“Yes.”

“So what made it different this time? Bonnie was used to his straying. What made her finally snap? Who was his girlfriend?”

Enos looked puzzled. “You think Bonnie threw him out over a girl?”

“She didn't?”

Enos shook his head.

“You're sure.”

“It was never about girls with Clu. They were just part of the drugs and alcohol. They were easy for him to give up.”

Myron was confused. “So he wasn't having an affair?”

“No,” Enos said. “She was.”

That was when it clicked. Myron felt a cold wave roll through him, squeezing the pit of his stomach. He barely said good-bye before he hurried away.

He knew Bonnie would be home.

The car had barely come to a full stop when he shot out the driver's door. There were perhaps a dozen other vehicles parked on the street. Mourners. The front door was opened. Myron headed inside without knocking. He wanted to find Bonnie and confront her and end this. But she wasn't in the living room. Just mourners. Some approached him, slowing him down. He offered his condolences to Clu's mother, her face ravaged with grief. He shook other hands, trying to swim through the thick sea of grief-stricken and glad-handers and find Bonnie. He finally spotted her outside in the backyard. She sat alone on the deck, her knees tucked under her chin, watching her children play. He steeled himself and pushed open the sliding glass doors.

The porch was cedarwood and overlooked a large swing set. Clu's boys were on it, both dressed in red ties and untucked short-sleeve shirts. They ran and laughed. Miniature versions of their dead father, their smiles so like his, their features eternal echoes of Clu's. Bonnie watched them. Her back was to Myron, a cigarette in her hand. She did not turn around as he approached.

“Clu didn't have the affair,” Myron said. “You did.”

Bonnie inhaled deeply and let it out. “Great timing, Myron.”

“That can't be helped.”

“Can't we talk about this later?”

Myron waited a beat. Then: “I know who you were sleeping with.”

She stiffened. Myron looked down at her. She finally turned and met his gaze.

“Let's take a walk,” Bonnie said.

She reached out a hand, and Myron helped her to her feet.

They walked down the backyard to a wooded area. The din of traffic filtered through a sound barrier up the hill. The house was spanking new, large and innately nouveau-riche. Airy, lots of windows, cathedral ceilings, small living room, huge kitchen flowing into huge California room, huge master bedroom, closets large enough to double as Gap outlets. Probably went for about eight hundred thou. Beautiful and sterile and soulless. Needing to be lived in a bit. Properly aged like a fine Merlot.

“I didn't know you smoked,” he said.

“You don't know a lot of things about me, Myron.”

Touche. He looked at her profile, and again he saw that young coed heading into the fraternity basement. He flashed back to that very moment, to the sound of Clu's sharp intake of air when he first laid eyes on her. Suppose she'd come down a little later, after Clu had passed out or hooked up with another woman. Suppose she had gone to another frat party that night. Dumb thoughts-life's arbitrary forks in the road, the series of what ifs-but there you go.

“So what makes you think I was the one having an affair?” she said.

“Clu told Enos.”

“Clu lied.”

“No,” Myron said.

They kept walking. Bonnie took a last drag and tossed the cigarette on the ground. “My property,” she said. “I'm allowed.”

Myron said nothing.

“Did Clu tell Enos who he thought I was sleeping with?”

“No.”

“But you think you know who this mystery lover is.”

“Yes,” Myron said. “It's Esperanza.”

Silence.

“Would you believe me if I insisted you were wrong?” she said.

“You'd have a lot of explaining to do.”

“How's that?”

“Let's start with you coming to my office after Esperanza was arrested.”

“Okay.”

“You wanted to know what they had on her-that was the real reason. I wondered why you warned me away from finding the truth. You told me to clear my friend but not dig too hard.”

She nodded. “And you think I said that because I didn't want you to know about this affair?”

“Yes. But there's more. Like Esperanza's silence, for one thing. Win and I theorized that she didn't want us to know about her affair with Clu. It would look bad on several levels to be having an affair with a client. But to be having an affair with a client's wife? What could be dumber than that?”

“That's hardly evidence, Myron.”

“I'm not finished. You see, all the evidence that points to an affair between Esperanza and Clu actually points to an affair between you two. The physical evidence, for example. The pubic hairs and DNA found at the Fort Lee apartment. I started thinking about that. You and Clu lived there for a short time. Then you moved into this house. But you still had the lease on the apartment. So before you threw him out, it was empty, right?”

“Right.”

“What better place to meet for a tryst? It wasn't Clu and Esperanza meeting there. It was you two.”

Bonnie said nothing.

“The E-Z Pass records-most of the bridge crossings were on days when the Yankees were out of town. So Esperanza wasn't coming out to see Clu. She was coming out to see you. I checked the office phone records. She never called the apartment after you threw Clu out-only this house. Why? Clu wasn't living here. You were.”

She took out another cigarette and struck a match.

“And lastly, the fight in the garage when Clu struck Esperanza. That bothered the hell out of me. Why would he hit her? Because she broke off an affair? That didn't make sense. Because he wanted to find me or was crazed from taking drugs? Again, no. I couldn't figure it out. But now the answer is obvious. Esperanza was having an affair with his wife. He blamed her for breaking up the marriage. Enos said the breakup shook him to the core. What could be worse for a psyche as fragile as Clu's than his wife having an affair with a woman?”

Her voice was sharp. “Are you blaming me for his death?”

“Depends. Did you kill him?”

“Would it help if I said no?”

“It would be a start.”

She smiled, but there was no joy in it. Like the house, it was beautiful and sterile and almost soulless. “Do you want to hear something funny?” she said. “Clu's beating the drugs and the drinking didn't help our marriage-it ended it. For so long Clu was… I don't know… a work in progress. I blamed his shortcomings on the drugs and drinking and all that. But once he finally exorcised his demons, what was left was just”-she lifted her palms and shrugged-“just him. I saw Clu clearly for the first time, Myron, and you know what I realized? I didn't love him.”