“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.”
Touché. 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.”
Myron said nothing.
“And don’t blame Esperanza. It wasn’t her fault. I held on purely for the sake of my kids, and when Esperanza came along—” Bonnie stopped, and this time her smile seemed more genuine. “You want to hear something else funny? I’m not a lesbian. I’m not even a bisexual. It’s just … she treated me tenderly. We had sex, sure, but it was never about sex. I know that sounds weird, but her gender was irrelevant. Esperanza is just a beautiful person, and I fell in love with that. Does that make sense?”
“You know how this looks,” Myron said.
“Of course I know how it looks. Two dykes got together and offed the husband. Why do you think we’re trying so hard to keep it secret? The weakness in their case right now is motive. But if they find out we were lovers—”
“Did you kill him?”
“What do you expect me to say to that, Myron?”
“I’d like to hear it.”
“No, we didn’t kill him. I was leaving him. Why would I throw him out and start filing papers if I planned on killing him?”