Chương 8
“No.”
“Claire.”
“I saw Victor lock it last night.”
The room seemed to tilt again even though I was lying still.
“He always locks it.”
Ramirez watched me carefully.
“Do you know who else had the combination?”
“No.”
“Did Helena?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Raúl?”
“No.”
“Nora?”
“No.”
“Where was Victor between the time you sent your brother the message and when officers arrived?”
I tried to reconstruct the kitchen.
His hands.
The stick.
My phone.
Nora running.
Victor chasing her.
The utility closet.
The front door.
“I don’t know every second.”
“That’s okay.”
“He went toward the living room.”
“For how long?”
“Maybe a minute.”
“Did he go upstairs?”
“I didn’t see him.”
Ramirez made a note.
I heard my own voice before I knew I was going to speak.
“Was the gun inside?”
She looked up.
“No.”
The fetal monitor continued its bright mechanical rhythm beside me.
I stopped breathing.
Ramirez closed the notebook halfway.
“Claire, do you know where the handgun is?”
I looked at the hospital door.
Then at the curtain Alex had disappeared behind.
Then at the bruises rising beneath my skin.
“No.”
For the first time since leaving the house, I wished Victor were still where I could see him.
Officer Ramirez did not reassure me.
She did not say they would find the gun quickly or that Victor could not possibly have taken it.
She simply reopened her notebook and asked, “When did you last see the handgun itself?”
“Last week.”
“Who had it?”
“Victor.”
“What was he doing with it?”
“Cleaning it at the dining table.”
Ramirez’s eyes lifted.
“Was that usual?”
“No.”
I could hear how bad that answer sounded.
“He normally keeps it in the bedroom safe.”
“Why was he cleaning it?”
“He said he’d taken it to the range.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he go often?”
“Sometimes.”
She wrote something down.
I watched the movement of her pen and tried to make my mind behave.
Victor had owned the handgun before we were married.
He was meticulous about it.
Almost theatrical.
He corrected people who called the magazine a clip.
He wiped fingerprints from the metal.
He checked the safe twice before bed if guests were in the house.
The idea that he had accidentally left it somewhere made no sense.
The idea that it was missing made too much.
“Did he ever threaten you with it?”
Ramirez asked.
“No.”
“Did he ever display it during an argument?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Ramirez waited.
Alex returned just then and stopped inside the curtain when he saw my face.
“What happened?”
“No,” I said.
He looked at Ramirez.
“What happened?”
She did not answer him.
“It’s Claire’s interview.”
I looked at my brother.
“The gun is missing.”
For a second he seemed not to understand.
Then his entire body hardened.
“What gun?”
“Victor’s handgun.”
“Missing from where?”
“The safe.”
Alex turned toward Ramirez.
“He had access to it this morning?”
“We’re still establishing that.”
“He was in the house.”
“Yes.”
“And now you don’t know where the gun is.”
“Alex.”
He looked at me.
I had not meant to sound sharp.
He rubbed a hand over his face.
“Sorry.”
Ramirez waited until he sat down.
Then she looked back at me.
“Claire, you paused when I asked whether he had ever displayed it during an argument.”
I stared at the blanket.
“He never pointed it at me.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“I know.”
Alex went very still.
“One time,” I said.
My voice sounded detached.
“Maybe two months ago.”
“What happened?”
“We were arguing about money.”
“Whose money?”
“Ours.”
That was easier than explaining the way Victor had started talking about my paycheck as ours and his commission checks as his.
“He wanted me to pull money from savings.”
“For what?”
“He said he had an investment opportunity.”
“What kind?”
“I didn’t really understand it.”
“Did you refuse?”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“He went upstairs.”
I swallowed.
“When he came back down, the gun was in a holster on his belt.”
Ramirez did not react.
“Was he threatening you verbally?”
“No.”
“Did he mention the gun?”
“No.”
“Did you perceive it as a threat?”
The answer embarrassed me.
“Yes.”
Alex made a quiet sound in the back of his throat.
I did not look at him.
“Why?”
Ramirez asked.
“Because he never wore it in the house.”
“Did he know you were uncomfortable around firearms?”
“Yes.”
“How did the argument end?”
“I transferred five thousand dollars.”
Alex stood again.
This time he did not ask permission before walking toward the window.
His hands went to his hips.
“Five thousand?”
I shut my eyes.
“Please.”
He turned away.
Ramirez wrote slowly.
“Do you know what happened to the money?”
“No.”
“Did he repay it?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“That I was keeping score.”
There was a long silence.
The fetal monitor clicked steadily beside me.
Ramirez closed her notebook.
“I’m going to have detectives follow up with you.”
“Am I in danger?”
It came out small.
She considered the question before answering.
“I think you should take precautions.”
That was worse than yes.
“What precautions?”
“Do not return home alone.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Don’t meet Victor privately.”
“I won’t.”
“If he contacts you, preserve the messages.”
“What if he gets released?”
“We can help you understand notification options and protective-order resources.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Ramirez held my gaze.
“No.”
It was the first time I had challenged someone in authority all morning without immediately apologizing.
“What happens if he gets released and nobody finds the gun?”
“We’ll make sure you have a safety plan.”
“That still isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
She did not flinch.
“You’re right.”
Alex turned from the window.
Ramirez continued.
“I can’t promise you an outcome I don’t control.”
That honesty scared me, but I respected it.
She gave me a card with her name and case number.
May you like
“Call if you remember anything.”
“I probably won’t forget today.”
