“Yes, we did find some of her blood.” She gave nothing further.
“Wait, one more question. Her husband—you know, he didn’t even know she was in a new moms’ group.” I realized it wasn’t a question at all after the words had finished tumbling out.
“And?”
“Don’t you think that’s kind of . . . like, inconsiderate? Neglectful? A red flag about their marriage?”
Sherer stepped in. “With respect, I have no idea what my wife does all day, and I’m pretty sure she prefers it that way,” he said, again sounding like this was a line he delivered often and that never failed to please him with its cleverness. I thought I caught an almost imperceptible eye roll from Blaylock at this, as though she were thinking the same thing I was, which was What a bunch of misogynistic bullshit. But it may have been wishful thinking on my part. “Besides, as you may know, he’s been cleared already.” Sherer seemed too smug delivering this news.
“Right. Why was he cleared, again?”
“Conveniently, the couple have a Nest camera. It clearly shows Connor sleeping in their bed all night. A trip to the bathroom at two a.m. confirms his identity.”
So what Louise had said was true. And the bathroom trip debunked my theory that Connor was trying to pull some kind of Weekend at Bernie’s stunt by putting a dummy in the bed.
“But wasn’t he the last person to see her? When was that, again?”
Sherer sighed as if explaining all this to me were a huge chore, but really, I could tell he was the type of person who enjoyed delineating information to others （especially women, in all likelihood） as if they were children and he was the teacher. I wondered how Blaylock dealt with being his partner. He was sort of insufferable. “Yes, he was the last person to see her that we know of, but she left to walk her dog after they said good night. And then the dog returned to the front steps alone. So she could have seen other people. We just don’t know. Yet.” He looked at me pointedly, as if to say, We think it was you. I shuddered involuntarily.
Sherer checked his watch. “If you think of anything alarming that you witnessed concerning Isabel in the days or weeks leading up to her disappearance—or anything regarding the plans that you may or may not have had the night she disappeared—you’ll give us a call right away, please.” It was a statement, not a question. They only wanted to ask me about how she seemed and the drinks date that never happened—they clearly weren’t interested in my hot take on the case beyond that, which I could hardly blame them for.
“But couldn’t he have hired someone?” It just popped out.
Sherer looked at me sideways yet again. “Do you have reason to suspect him, ma’am? Other than the fact that he didn’t know about your group?” The sudden interjection of the word “ma’am” and the slight disdain with which he said “your group” let me know that this conversation was no longer a particularly friendly one and needed to come to an end.
“No, I don’t. I guess I just read too many thrillers. It’s always the husband.” I laughed a little to try to get myself out of the hole I had dug. Why am I so suspicious of Connor? I truly wasn’t sure. There was just something about him that irked the hell out of me.
Blaylock smiled reassuringly but was silent. Sherer said curtly, “Right. Well, you probably know this from all those thrillers you read, but if you did happen to see Isabel on that Thursday night, we’ll find out. And soon. So if anything occurs to you that would make you want to edit your story, you know where to find us. It would be much better coming from you than—than not. You have yourself a good rest of the day.” He nodded at me. “It’s beautiful out there, you know,” he added, condescendingly. Apparently it was obvious that I hadn’t been outside yet that day. I felt a fresh flush of shame over how filthy my apartment was, with piles of clothes everywhere and a faint milky odor. Even the cops were judging me for my maternal incompetence and slovenly apartment.
But I couldn’t muster too much concern for that, because all I could think about was Why would Isabel’s calendar declare plans with me the night of her disappearance?
Chapter Nine
Sunday, October 4
The second they left, I grabbed my phone to check my own calendar. Thursday, October 1: nothing. I searched the surrounding days, too, to be thorough. Aside from moms’ group on Fridays and the occasional pediatrician appointment for Clara, my calendar was blushingly bare.