flynn_gillian_gone_girl (1) (858987), страница 36
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Gilpin hovered next to her, chewing his lip, tapping afoot. Even the room felt restive: The afternoon sun lit up an atomic urry of dust motes.A jet shot over the house, that awful sky-rip noise.“Okay, couple of things here,” Rhonda said when the silence returned. She and Gilpinsat down as if they both had suddenly decided to stay awhile. “Some stu to get clearon, some stuff to tell you. All very routine. And as always, if you want a lawyer—”But I knew from my TV shows, my movies, that only guilty guys lawyered up.
Real,grieving, worried, innocent husbands did not.“I don’t, thanks,” I said. “I actually have some information to share with you. AboutAmy’s former stalker, the guy she dated back in high school.”“Desi—uh, Collins,” began Gilpin.“Collings. I know you all talked to him, I know you for some reason aren’t thatinterested in him, so I went to visit him myself today. To make sure he seemed … okay.And I don’t think he is okay.
I think he’s someone you all should look into. Really lookinto. I mean, he moves to St. Louis—”“He was living in St. Louis three years before you all moved back,” Gilpin said.“Fine, but he’s in St. Louis. Easy drive. Amy bought a gun because she was afraid—”“Desi’s okay, Nick. Nice guy,” Rhonda said. “Don’t you think? He reminds me of you,actually.
Real golden boy, baby of the family.”“I’m a twin. Not the baby. I’m actually three minutes older.”Rhonda was clearly trying to nip at me, see if she could get a rise, but even knowingthis didn’t prevent the angry blood ush to my stomach every time she accused me ofbeing a baby.“Anyway,” Gilpin interrupted. “Both he and his mother deny that he ever stalkedAmy, or that he even had much contact with her these past years except the occasionalnote.”“My wife would tell you di erently. He wrote Amy for years—years—and then heshows up here for the search, Rhonda. Did you know that? He was here that rst day.You talked about keeping an eye out for men inserting themselves into the investigation—”“Desi Collings is not a suspect,” she interrupted, one hand up.“But—”“Desi Collings is not a suspect,” she repeated.The news stung.
I wanted to accuse her of being swayed by Ellen Abbott, but EllenAbbott was probably best left unmentioned.“Okay, well what about all these, these guys who’ve clogged up our tip line?” Iwalked over and grabbed the sheet of names and numbers that I’d carelessly tossed onthe dining room table. I began reading names. “Inserting themselves into theinvestigation: David Samson, Murphy Clark—those are old boyfriends—Tommy O’Hara,Tommy O’Hara, Tommy O’Hara, that’s three calls, Tito Puente—that’s just a dumb joke.”“Have you phoned any of them back?” Boney asked.“No.
Isn’t that your job? I don’t know which are worthwhile and which are crazies. Idon’t have time to call some jackass pretending to be Tito Puente.”“I wouldn’t put too much emphasis on the tip line, Nick,” Rhonda said. “It’s kind of awoodwork situation. I mean, we’ve elded a lot of phone calls from your old girlfriends.Just want to say hi. See how you are. People are strange.”“Maybe we should get started on our questions,” Gilpin nudged.“Right. Well, I guess we should begin with where you were the morning your wifewent missing,” Boney said, suddenly apologetic, deferential. She was playing good cop,and we both knew she was playing good cop.
Unless she was actually on my side. Itseemed possible that sometimes a cop was just on your side. Right?“When I was at the beach.”“And you still can’t recall anyone seeing you there?” Boney asked. “It’d help us somuch if we could just cross this little thing o our list.” She allowed a sympatheticsilence. Rhonda could not only keep quiet, she could infuse the room with a mood of herchoosing, like an octopus and its ink.“Believe me, I’d like that as much as you. But no. I don’t remember anyone.”Boney smiled a worried smile. “It’s strange, we’ve mentioned—just in passing—yourbeing at the beach to a few people, and they all said … They were all surprised, let’s putit that way. Said that didn’t sound like you. You aren’t a beach guy.”I shrugged. “I mean, do I go to the beach and lay out all day? No.
But to sip mycoffee in the morning? Sure.”“Hey, this might help,” Boney said brightly. “Where’d you buy your co ee thatmorning?” She turned to Gilpin as if to seek approval. “Could tighten the time frame atleast, right?”“I made it here,” I said.“Oh.” She frowned.
“That’s weird, because you don’t have any co ee here. Nowherein the house. I remember thinking it was odd. A caffeine addict notices these things.”Right, just something you happened to notice, I thought. I knew a cop named BonyMoronie … Her traps are so obvious, they’re clearly phony …“I had a leftover cup in the fridge I heated up.” I shrugged again: No big deal.“Huh. Must have been there a long time—I noticed there’s no co ee container in thetrash.”“Few days. Still tastes good.”We both smiled at each other: I know and you know. Game on. I actually thought thoseidiotic words: Game on.
Yet I was pleased in a way: The next part was starting.Boney turned to Gilpin, hands on knees, and gave a little nod. Gilpin chewed his lipsome more, then nally pointed: toward the ottoman, the end table, the living roomnow righted. “See, here’s our problem, Nick,” he started. “We’ve seen dozens of homeinvasions—”“Dozens upon dozens upon dozens,” Boney interrupted.“Many home invasions. This—all this area right there, in the living room—rememberit? The upturned ottoman, the overturned table, the vase on the oor”—he slappeddown a photo of the scene in front of me—“this whole area, it was supposed to look likea struggle, right?”My head expanded and snapped back into place. Stay calm. “Supposed to?”“It looked wrong,” Gilpin continued.
“From the second we saw it. To be honest, thewhole thing looked staged. First of all, there’s the fact that it was all centered in this onespot. Why wasn’t anything messed up anywhere but this room? It’s odd.” He pro eredanother photo, a close-up. “And look here, at this pile of books. They should be in frontof the end table—the end table is where they were stacked, right?”I nodded.“So when the end table was knocked over, they should have spilled mostly in front ofit, following the trajectory of the falling table. Instead, they’re back behind it, as ifsomeone swept them off before knocking over the table.”I stared dumbly at the photo.“And watch this.
This is very curious to me,” Gilpin continued. He pointed at threeslender antique frames on the mantelpiece. He stomped heavily, and they all oppedfacedown immediately. “But somehow they stayed upright through everything else.”He showed a photo of the frames upright. I had been hoping—even after they caughtmy Houston’s dinner slipup—that they were dumb cops, cops from the movies, localrubes aiming to please, trusting the local guy: Whatever you say, buddy.
I didn’t get dumbcops.“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I mumbled. “It’s totally— I just don’t knowwhat to think about this. I just want to find my wife.”“So do we, Nick, so do we,” Rhonda said. “But here’s another thing. The ottoman—remember how it was ipped upside down?” She patted the squatty ottoman, pointed atits four peg legs, each only an inch high. “See, this thing is bottom-heavy because ofthose tiny legs. The cushion practically sits on the oor. Try to push it over.” I hesitated.“Go on, try it,” Boney urged.I gave it a push, but it slid across the carpet instead of turning over.
I nodded. Iagreed. It was bottom-heavy.“Seriously, get down there if you need to, and knock that thing upside down,” Boneyordered.I knelt down, pushed from lower and lower angles, nally put a hand underneaththe ottoman, and ipped it.
Even then it lifted up, one side hovering, and fell back intoplace; I finally had to pick it up and turn it over manually.“Weird, huh?” Boney said, not sounding all that puzzled.“Nick, you do any housecleaning the day your wife went missing?” Gilpin asked.“No.”“Okay, because the tech did a Luminol sweep, and I’m sorry to tell you, the kitchenfloor lit up.
A good amount of blood was spilled there.”“Amy’s type—B positive.” Boney interrupted, “And I’m not talking a little cut, I’mtalking blood.”“Oh my God.” A clot of heat appeared in the middle of my chest. “But—”“Yes, so your wife made it out of this room,” Gilpin said. “Somehow, in theory, shemade it into the kitchen—without disturbing any of those gewgaws on that table justoutside the kitchen—and then she collapsed in the kitchen, where she lost a lot ofblood.”“And then someone carefully mopped it up,” Rhonda said, watching me.“Wait. Wait.
Why would someone try to hide blood but then mess up the living room—”“We’ll figure that out, don’t worry, Nick,” Rhonda said quietly.“I don’t get it, I just don’t—”“Let’s sit down,” Boney said. She pointed me toward a dining room chair. “You eatanything yet? Want a sandwich, something?”I shook my head.
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