Owen knew he was being watched, followed, but there was an unspoken etiquette he’d always assumed was in play. Not that he’d been tailed by cops before. But he’d seen movies. The subject either goes about his day in oblivion or he aggressively acknowledges the tail by bringing the cops doughnuts and coffee. Owen strolled over to the unmarked car and waved. The cop rolled down the window.
“Hi. I’m, uh—”
“I know,” said Trooper Hank Good. “Can I help you, sir?”
“You’re following me, right?”
“Just making sure you’re safe, sir.”
“If you have to go where I go, can you just give me a ride?” Owen said.
Officer Good didn’t particularly like the idea of playing chauffeur to a suspected murderer, but there was a certain logic to the request. He shrugged and told Owen to get in. Owen climbed into the back seat, like he was taking an Uber. Although he felt decidedly more like a perp, seeing the cage divider.
“Where to?” said Officer Good.
“The corner of Locust and Main,” Owen said.
* * *
—
Officer Good pulled his car in front of Sam and Luna’s residence. Owen thanked the officer for the ride and climbed out of the vehicle. He was sobering up and didn’t like how it felt.
Owen rang the doorbell. It took a while for anyone inside to stir, but when he heard the footsteps approach, Owen realized that it was Sam. Owen’s eyes darted around as he considered a last-minute escape. Alas, it was too late. The doorbell took his picture. How would he explain the ding and ditch?
“Shit,” Sam said, after opening the door, clearly disappointed by the sight of Owen.
This confused Owen. It wasn’t like Owen and Sam were buddies, but Sam was friendly most of the time. Owen thought Sam liked him as much as he liked anyone. Maybe the problem was that Sam suspected Owen killed his wife. At least that’s what passed through Owen’s mind during those first few seconds.
“Hey, man,” Owen said.
“Sorry. Hi, Owen.”
“Apologies for the interruption,” Owen said. “Is Luna here?”
“No, she’s not,” Sam said.
“Oh, okay,” Owen said.
Owen felt like his feet were stuck in cement. Sam was waiting to see some signs of rage or fear or something that made sense.
“It’s been a really weird day,” Owen said. He seemed drunk and spacey, but nothing else.
“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding.
Owen was waiting for Sam to invite him inside. Then he thought that maybe Luna didn’t want to see him, that Sam was playing guard dog for her.
“When’s the last time you talked to Luna?” Sam said.
“I don’t know,” Owen said. “Yesterday?”
“Fuck,” Sam said.
“Did something happen?”
“Yeah.”
“Where is she? Is she back there?” Owen said, then shouted, “Hey, Luna, what’s going on?”
“Owen, she’s at a motel. She’s not here.”
Sam didn’t want to be the one who told Owen, but he also didn’t want Owen to get anyone else’s spin on it. “Why don’t you come in,” Sam said, turning his back on Owen.
Owen followed Sam down the hall. There was a game on. Sam was always watching some sporting event, shouting at the TV. Sam muted the sound and offered Owen a beer.
Sam pointed to the couch and told Owen to relax. Sam was being nicer to him now, and Owen was grateful. Sam perched on the edge of a giant reclining chair. It was a fancy easy-chair kind of thing. Comfortable, with an interior mechanism so you could practically sleep on it, with every angle in between. And it wasn’t an eyesore, like some others he’d seen.
“I didn’t kill her. That’s the most important thing you need to know,” Sam said.
Sam’s statement shook Owen’s attention away from the stupid chair.
“Wait, what?” Owen said. “Dude, that’s the last thing that would have crossed my mind.”
“You were going to find out eventually,” Sam said. “I was sleeping with Irene. The police know already. I talked to them today.”
Once Owen heard the words, he still didn’t get it. Not really. It took him a few long seconds to process the information. Then he had to say it out loud, to understand. “You and Irene? Really?”
“Yes.”
Then Owen was angry. “What the fuck, Sam. Why?”
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “It just happened.”