Let Me Go (25 page)

Gary considered the Q-tip. “It's possible we could get away with just the one,” he said.

“Which one?” Archie asked quickly.

“Do you have a preference?” Gary asked.

Archie raised an eyebrow. Wasn't it obvious?

“Are you concerned about STDs?” Gary asked.

“Right now?” Archie said. He had never been less concerned about STDs. “Not at all.”

Gary smiled. “Then I'll just swab your penis, then,” he said pleasantly.

“Fine,” Archie said, relieved. He lifted his hands to his hips and looked over Gary's shoulder at the wall.

Gary put the penlight back in his mouth and lowered out of Archie's sight. Archie kept his eyes focused dead ahead, cringing as the dry fuzzy end of the Q-tip tickled lightly along the shaft and then around the tip of his penis. It was over quickly. Gary did it expertly, like he swabbed penises thirty times a day. Archie exhaled the breath he had been holding and Gary dropped the Q-tip into a plastic vial.

“Does it ever
not
work?” Archie asked.

“What?” Gary asked, looking up.

“You threatened to jam the stick up my dick so I'd agree to the swab,” Archie said.

Gary lowered his head, but Archie could see he was smiling. “You could have refused.”

“But I didn't,” Archie said.

“But you didn't,” Gary said, still smiling. He picked up his pen and started writing something on the label of the plastic vial. “You can put on your pants now,” he said, not looking up.

Archie stepped off the plastic sheeting, picked up his underwear off the bed and pulled them on, and did the same with his pants. He was starting to put on his shirt when Gary stopped him.

“Not so fast,” Gary said. “I still need a blood draw.”

Archie tossed the button-down aside and sat on the edge of the bed, his bare feet on the floor.

Gary took a seat next to him and crossed Archie's forearm over his knees. He tied a urine-yellow rubber tourniquet around Archie's upper arm, letting it snap tightly into place, and then wiped the inside of Archie's elbow with iodine. “You have nice veins,” Gary said.

“I've been told that before,” Archie said.

Gary tossed the used cotton ball in a small orange biohazard bag and then produced a hypodermic syringe from his kit. He took the cap off the needle.

“What will they test for?” Archie asked.

“I expect they'll run a general tox screen as well as some tests for more specific drugs along the line of what she's used in the past,” Gary said.

Gary slid the needle into Archie's vein. Archie watched as his blood filled the hypodermic's barrel. Opiates would show up on any basic tox screen, and Archie knew he'd started last night with plenty of pills. “I took some Vicodin last night,” Archie told Gary. Then there were the two he'd chewed when he'd come to on the riverbank. “And this morning,” Archie added

“Okay,” Gary said.

“I just thought I should mention it,” Archie said.

Gary withdrew the needle and pressed a cotton ball in the crook of Archie's elbow and bent the arm closed around it. “You better spend some time thinking about what you're going to tell them when they ask about it,” he said. He gave Archie a meaningful look and then glanced toward the closed door. “We're done,” he called.

*   *   *

Archie was still
buttoning his shirt when he walked into the living room. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him. Raul Sanchez sat on Archie's sofa with Bob Eaton, the chief of police. Martin Ngyun had Susan's laptop on his knees on a stool at the kitchen bar, and Claire was standing close to Henry by the window. Susan had the refrigerator door open. She was the only one who didn't look up. She was pulling bread and peanut butter out of the fridge, clearly intent on making a sandwich.

Archie forced himself to look around the room, to meet all of their eyes, until, one by one, the heads turned back to what they had been doing.

There had been more, at first. Archie had counted seventeen cops in his small apartment when Gary had escorted him into the bedroom. Then Henry had explained the sensitive nature of the video, and all nonessential personnel had been asked to leave. Archie imagined them all home posting status updates on Facebook, publicly wondering what new humiliation Archie Sheridan had suffered now.

“How are you doing?” Eaton asked from the couch. Archie couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the chief out of uniform, but tonight he was in street clothes—a blue Columbia Sportswear jacket, jeans that looked ironed, and a button-down shirt that was open at the collar. One of his hiking boots had come unlaced.

“I've just had my penis swabbed, Bob, how are you doing?” Archie said.

Eaton coughed uncomfortably. His hair was entirely white, but the light reflecting off his jacket tinted it with blue. “This is…” Eaton flailed helplessly. “This is…” He looked around the room, but nobody came to his aid. What was there to say? Archie could think of a few things:
This is … humiliating, demeaning, degrading, denigrating, mortifying.
But Eaton wasn't really a word man. He squinted at Archie and Archie almost felt sorry for him. “Do you need to talk to someone about this?” Eaton asked.

They were all looking at Archie again, except for Susan, who was spreading peanut butter on a piece of wheat bread. Archie could smell the peanut butter from across the room.

“Am I supposed to be traumatized?” Archie asked. This was exactly what he'd wanted to avoid, all of those eyes brimming with concern, as if he'd survived some ordeal. “You know what's traumatizing?” Archie lifted his shirt, exposing the thick scar that ran up his midsection. “Having your spleen forcibly removed without anesthesia.
That's
traumatizing.” He directed his chin toward his laptop, which still sat open on the kitchen bar. “That, right there, is cuddling.”

He had already decided that he was going to tell them. Now he swallowed hard and made himself go through with it. “Look,” he said. “Some of you know this.” He glanced across the room at Susan, who peeked up from her sandwich. “The rest of you have at least heard rumors, so I'll just be clear.” He shut his eyes. It was the only way he could say it. “I had an affair with her.”

“Archie,” Henry said sharply, “stop.”

Archie could feel the weight of everyone's attention; it made his neck burn.
An affair? Was that even the right word?
Archie opened his eyes. “Gretchen Lowell and I had a sexual relationship during the period she infiltrated the investigation,” he said. The words tumbled out now. He lifted his hand, the one without the ring. “You'll notice that I'm no longer married.” The apartment was completely silent. Claire threaded her hand through Henry's, but Archie could tell from her expression that his confession hadn't been news to her. He wondered what, if anything, Henry had told her and what she'd figured out on her own. “That's what she's doing on the tape,” he said. “Reliving old times.”

He'd done it.

He stole a glance at Susan. She was on the other side of the kitchen bar, facing him, eyebrows raised, frozen, with a piece of bread in one hand and a butter knife in the other.

Ngyun was facing Susan's laptop screen, his features bathed in its blue light. But his hands weren't moving over the keys, and his mouth was open.

Sanchez cleared his throat. He had his palms together, his fingertips touching his lip. “Well, shit,” he said quietly.

But Eaton was the only one who looked truly, utterly surprised. He was looking at Archie with abject astonishment. Apparently not everyone had heard the rumors after all.

“You slept with her?” Eaton sputtered. “With Gretchen Lowell?”

Archie met his eye. There was no going back now. “We had sex, yes,” he said. “Many times.”

“When did it end?” Eaton asked.

“She locked me in a basement and tortured me,” Archie said, deflecting the question. “What do you think?”

Eaton turned to Henry, who was shaking his head at the floor. “You knew about this?” Eaton asked him.

“Not at the time,” Archie said quickly before Henry could answer.

“She seduced him, Bob,” Henry said, crossing the living room to take the chair nearest Eaton. “He was under a lot of pressure, remember?” Henry scratched the back of his head. The chair creaked. “Overworked. Exhausted. He was vulnerable. She knew that.” He touched his mustache. “She did it to fuck with all of us,” he said.

“It hasn't been easy for Archie,” Claire said. She walked over and stood behind Henry. “It was a mistake,” she said, giving Archie a supportive smile. “He's been punished enough for it.”

Archie didn't deserve their support, but he was grateful for it.

Eaton hunched forward and studied his hands. Sanchez zipped up his FBI windbreaker and then unzipped it, and then zipped it up again. The room was so quiet Archie could hear the fridge humming. Susan perched cross-legged with her shoes on his counter, holding her sandwich with both hands, her eyes doing her own survey of the room and studiously avoiding his.

“Is that why she let you live?” Eaton asked.

“I honestly have no idea why she let me live,” Archie said.

Sanchez leaned back against the couch and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. “Why make this confession now?”

Archie shrugged. “I don't care who knows anymore.”

“Like any one of you wouldn't have fucked her given half the chance,” Claire said with a snort. Henry shot her a look. “What?” she said with a shrug. “It's true.”

“They want to keep a lid on it,” Susan said from the kitchen, a biteful of sandwich in her cheek. “That's what they've been talking about while you were in there. They think warning people she's back will cause a panic.”

The lightness in Archie's arms vanished. He looked around the room, stunned, waiting for someone to contradict her. Keep a lid on the fact that the Beauty Killer was back? They had to warn people—if not for the public's protection, then to help apprehend Gretchen. Someone might spot her.

“Good to see you're feeling better,” Sanchez said to Susan, narrowing his eyes.

“Thanks,” she said, coloring slightly. “The Midol really helped.”

“You can't keep a lid on this,” Archie said to Eaton. Gretchen had designed this scenario after all, of that Archie was certain. And if Gretchen expected them to stay tight-lipped, the only proper response was to shout her presence from the rooftops. “You're going to issue a statement, right, Bob?”

“Do you know what tomorrow is?” Eaton asked. The lines in his face seemed to deepen. “It's Halloween.”

Halloween.
Archie shook his head and smiled. She couldn't have planned it better. “Of course it is,” Archie said. He moved around to the chair across from Henry and sat down.

Sanchez looked like he was waiting for him to say something.

“What's so funny?” Sanchez asked.

“You think this is a coincidence?” Archie asked him. “Her coming back now?”

“You have to warn people,” Susan said from the kitchen. “You have to make an announcement.”

“She's right,” Archie said.

“So, what?” Sanchez asked. “So they can lock their doors?”

Archie looked across the coffee table at Henry, who was sitting quite still. He'd been noticeably silent on the subject.

“Henry's with us on this,” Sanchez said.

Henry's pale eyes looked tired. He spread his palms plaintively. “People will keep their kids home from trick-or-treating,” he said to Archie. “There will be people in costume. People dressed up like Gretchen, for Christ's sake. It's a recipe for panic. You know that there will be drunk jackasses who take a shot at the first girl in a blond wig they see.”

Claire offered Archie an apologetic shrug. “If she doesn't know we know she's in the area, it gives us an edge,” she said. “We can catch her.”

Archie looked around. These people were all smart, all dedicated. How could they all be so wrong?

“She knows,” Archie said, exasperated. He lifted his hand toward his laptop. “Look at her. She knows she's being filmed.”

“She doesn't know you've even seen the tape,” Sanchez said. “She doesn't know you've shared it with us.”

Susan was still on his counter, eating her sandwich. She paused and shook some crumbs off her orange T-shirt, and then brushed them off her purse, which sat gaping open next to her. She was being uncharacteristically calm about all this, Archie noticed. She'd offered a few pronouncements, sure, but there'd been no bitter pleading, no dramatics.

Her purse hadn't been on the counter earlier.

Archie raised an eyebrow at her.

Susan shrugged.

“It's moot,” Archie announced to the group.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sanchez asked.

Susan took a bite of her sandwich and chewed.

“It's already done, isn't it?” Archie asked Susan. “Who'd you go to?”

Susan swallowed. “The
Herald
,” she said. “It'll be up on their Web site as soon as they can confirm some of the details.”

Henry put his head back and closed his eyes. Claire said, “Oops.” Eaton and Sanchez turned the same shade of purple, and Sanchez shot Archie an accusatory look.

“Hey,” Archie said, putting up his hands. “I'm not the one who didn't take away her phone.”

Archie's bedroom door opened and they all looked as Gary emerged, carrying a metal case. He stopped short, took in the scene, and then glanced back at the bedroom door, like he might turn around and go back through it.

“You done?” Sanchez asked him.

Gary held up the case and tapped it. “Got everything I need,” he said.