Page 26 of The Wives of Murder Club
“I think we need to talk about next steps.” Bernie knew she had to be careful about how she broached the topic. It was crucial that they make the decision as a group. “Our friend is dead and we can’t help her. But it’s not too late to help ourselves.”
“What do you mean?” asked Imogen.
“I’ve been thinking about what would have happened if we’d been able to call the police,” said Bernie. She’d been correct in her assumption that most people didn’t know that it’s still possible to place a call to emergency services without a signal, and she’d been relieved that neither Imogen nor Marta had actually trieddialing911; they’d simply put their faith in the “no service” indicator at the top of their respective screens. The “no service” indicator meant that their personal cell carriers didn’t have a tower nearby for regular coverage. In order for an emergency call to go through, there just had to be a cell tower (any cell tower, owned by any carrier) near enough to pick up the signal. During her fourth-year elective rotation in emergency medicine, Bernie had helped treat a patient who’d been helicoptered in—a severely lost hiker who’d known this cellular trick and thus narrowly avoided dying of exposure. “It would have been a disaster. I know it’s technically the ‘right’ thing to do . . . but is it the right thing for us?”
“Of course it’s the right thing,” said Marta.
She’s not getting it.“Yes, I agree. Like I said, calling the police is the right thing to do.” Bernie tried to sound conflicted. “But . . . it’s foolish not to acknowledge that a murder investigation would destroy us. The legal fees alone would be ruinous. We’re familiar with how these things go; we’ve certainly read enough to know what it means to be a murder suspect. Our faces all over the news. Guilty in the court of public opinion. Our names forever linked with the crime, even when cleared of wrongdoing.” Bernie spoke with conviction, which was easy, because everything she was saying was the truth. She looked around to see how it was landing, and saw that while Imogen had a contemplative expression on her face, Marta looked agitated.
“For me, personally, and I am veryaware thatthis is selfish, I’m up for medical director next month when my boss retires. But the hospital board is risk-averse and there’s no way my candidacy will go forward if I’m under investigation. I didn’t kill Celeste—if anything, having her on the board of directors would have helpedme get the position—and I don’t want to sacrifice my future at her grave.”
“That’s insane,” said Marta. “We shouldn’t call the cops because you’ve got a stupid promotion on the line?”
Bernie bristled. Why did no one seem to understand that what she did at the hospital in one afternoon mattered more than what most people could do with their entire lives?
“Imm? Are you seriously not chiming in right now?” asked Marta. But Imogen didn’t look at Marta, which sent a warm surge through Bernie’s stomach.
“She’s kind of right, though,” Imogen said in a quiet voice. “Celeste was my only employee. That’s going to put my business under intense scrutiny, not to mention scare all my existing clients. Add Celeste’s affair with Mark to the mix . . . no one’s going to believe that I didn’t know it was going on, and that’s a gift-wrapped motive for a lazy detective. Plus, I have Ari to think about . . .fuck. Things are already bad enough. I don’t want to expose her to a murder trial.”
Bernie bit the inside of her cheek. She knew she needed at least one of them to agree with her for this to work, and now that it was clear which way Imogen was leaning, she was hopeful they could see this thing through.
“No, this conversation is sowrong,” Marta said. “One of you killed Celeste and if we don’t tell the police, then I’m basically complicit and . . . hold on, hold on. Calling the police isn’t an option for us right now without a working phone, but Rick’s going to get here tomorrow morning and thenhewill call the police. So what is even the point of this conversation?”
Bernie was disappointed; she’d thought Marta was smarter than this. “No one calls the police. I’m saying that when Rick gets here, Celeste is a missing person. We make her body disappear.”
31
IMOGEN
“Disappear?” asked Marta.
Imogen closed her eyes and sighed.Why does she have to be like this?On the one hand, she loved Marta for her innate goodness—keeping her close throughout the years had made Imogen feel like a better version of herself—but on the other hand, she could be a real pain in the ass. Then again, maybe Marta was playing dumb. This weekend had made Imogen realize she didn’t know her friends as well as she thought she did.
“Disappear,” Bernie repeated solemnly.
Marta turned her back on both of them, staring out the window at the smears of foam on the dark water.
Imogen had felt one thing when Bernie suggested not involving the authorities: full-body relief.Could it be this easy?Her blood was replaced with tiny bubbles and she felt as though she might float away. This giddy feeling lasted only a moment. If they couldn’t convince Marta that this was the best way forward, Imogen’s life could truly be destroyed. But she was fairly confident that, with enough pressure, Marta would crumble.
“Did you do it?” asked Imogen, staring at Marta’s back. “I know you never liked her, Marty.”
“What?” Marta whipped around. “No, of course not. Just because we weren’t close doesn’t mean I wanted herdead. And it doesn’t mean I want to deny her justice.”
“But what does justice mean here?” asked Bernie. “Does justice look like ruining two innocent lives? I should have to pay for someone else’s sins?”
“It’s not that I think you . . . look, society has rules, and . . .” Marta was flailing, out of her depth. “I just cannot believe that we are seriously having this conversation. I can’t help get rid of a body, not . . . It’s so horrible—I don’t want anything to do with this.”
Imogen pounced. “You think you won’t have anything to do with this when the authorities start asking questions? Think about how this goes for you, with Derrick missing. And now you have a murdered friend? It’s a bad look. Maybe they’ll want to tie it all up nice and tidy and put everything on you.” Derrick’s disappearance had occupied a lot of Imogen’s mental space for the past couple of weeks, as she still wasn’t exactly sure what she’d done to him. If the crack to his head had killed him (as she’d initially feared, after Marta announced that Derrick hadn’t come home), then where was his body and why hadn’t it been found? And if it hadn’t killed him, then where the fuck was he? Imogen didn’t know a lot of things, but she did know that she was not above using his disappearance as a weapon to club her best friend into compliance.
Imogen and Bernie were both standing now and facing Marta, who had her back pressed up against the windows. Imogen had the feeling of being a pack hunter, cornering her prey.
Bernie went in for the metaphorical kill. “Are you prepared to be interrogated for hours? To have every aspect of your life under the microscope, to be featured on national and international news? Think about what you’d be getting yourself into.” Marta tried to protest, but Bernie bulldozed ahead. “I don’t know if this is some kind of reverse psychology trick you’re trying to pull, but for all I know, you’re the one who killed Celeste. What if Imogen and I were both to come to that same conclusion? I think we’d have remarkably consistent stories . . . not to mention the forensic evidence.”
“There is no evidence!” Marta shouted. “How could there be? I didn’t do it!”
Imogen gasped when she realized what Bernie was referring to. “The rope. Did you plan it that way—to ‘find’ it under my bed? So that you’d have a reason for your prints being on it? And what do you think the police would make of those photos you’ve got hidden away in your bag? Sure looks like you were the one following Derrick and me around—that’s pretty fucking creepy!”
“No! I . . . no.” Marta looked defeated, betrayed. She slid down into a seated position with her head in her hands. Imogen felt a small flare of pity, but it was quickly extinguished by the rush of adrenalin that shot through her when Marta looked up at them and nodded. “Fine. I can’t fight both of you. I’ll do it.”
