It’s clear that Drew Larsson’s contact in the police force spoke out of turn, and prematurely, and my shoulders immediately drop a little.
“I’m glad to hear there’s been no ruling yet,” I say, “because as I pointed out last night, I just can’t believe Jamie would have taken his own life.”
He thanks me for calling and signs off.
Though I’m almost ashamed for feeling a little better now, I can’t help it. The idea of Jamie having been murdered is brutal, but if he’d taken his own life because of me, I won’t be able to live with myself.
I’m about a quarter of the way into my journey when Megan finally calls me back.
“Hey, sorry to miss you earlier,” she says. “I went out for a run and purposely didn’t take my phone. What’s going on?”
“Meg, it’s horrible,” I blurt out. “Jamie’s dead.”
“Oh my god, Kiki. Whathappened?”
“He was shot. And even more horrible, there’s talk it was suicide.”
“What?No.Was this in New York or Connecticut?”
I share a few details, but it’s almost impossible to discuss the situation and navigate a two-lane country road at the same time.
“If you’re not busy today, can we meet up after I drop off the rental car?” I ask. “I could really use your company.”
“Of course. Text or call me when you’re half an hour from yourplace, and I’ll meet you there. But if you feel at all overwhelmed on the drive back, pull over and call me.”
MEGAN IS GOOD TO HER WORD, WAITING OUTSIDE MY BUILDINGwhen I arrive. She’s dressed casually and her chestnut-colored hair is tied in a high ponytail. We hug each other tightly, and as we separate I see that her bright green eyes are brimming with tears.
“Oh, Kiki,” she murmurs. We board the elevator and take it silently to the ninth floor. As soon as we’re in my apartment, Megan ushers me onto the living room couch. I’d been thinking that being in my own place would be comforting, but I haven’t had much of a chance to fix it up yet, and it feels sparse and unwelcoming.
“Okay, first, what can I get you?” she asks. “Do you have any juice in your fridge? You look incredibly pale.”
“What I’d love most of all is a coffee. I’ve had three sips of caffeine all morning and my head is pounding.”
As she hurries into my galley kitchen, I remind her that there’s a basket of coffee capsules next to the machine. She returns shortly with a mug full of coffee, milk added—we’ve been friends long enough for her to know how I take mine—and settles beside me on the couch.
Once I’ve had a few gulps of coffee, I pour out the whole story—the party, the conversation I overheard, my last contact with Jamie, and the awful hours since then, including my short conversation with the detective today. From time to time, Megan grabs my hand between her long, slim fingers, squeezing it for support, and her eyes well with tears again, the kind of tears I can’t summon myself.
“This is mind-boggling,” Megan says when I finish. “And it sounds like it’ll be days before you know anything for certain.”
“Right, but it can’t be suicide,canit? You knew Jamie. Did he seem like the kind of person who would take his own life?”
Megan’s lips part briefly, but then she closes her mouth again, hesitating. My heart sinks.
“What?” I demand.
“I agree with you, Kiki, I do. Jamie always seemed like such a well-adjusted person. And yet people suffering from depression sometimes manage to hide it really well, and that means friends and loved ones are not only clueless, but they’re also denied any chance to help.”
I shake my head. “But I dated Jamie for over two years and lived with him for a year of that. Surely I would have noticed at least a hint of depression.”
“Not necessarily, if he was skilled at disguising it. And people who take their own lives don’t necessarily have ahistoryof depression. It can come on almost out of the blue if the person’s suddenly struggling with a difficulty in their lives.”
My breath hitches. “Like having your fiancée practically leave you at the altar?”
She hesitates briefly before speaking. “Being perfectly straight with you—because I know that’s what you want—it’s possible the breakup crushed him more than you realized and started him on a downward spiral. But any depression he experienced over the breakup could have been compounded by other factors that have nothing to do with you—like some kind of work setback or family conflict—which then led to suicidal ideation. And didn’t his dog die recently?”
I appreciate Megan’s support, but this is not what I want to hear. I need her to be as skeptical as I am.
“His dog did die, but when we spoke a few weeks ago, he told me he was thinking of getting another one. And from what I know, his work was still going great. He’d added a bunch of new clients earlier in the year.”
