Panic Attack (35 page)

“Anything’s possible,” Clements said.
“So maybe you should see if there’s a connection between Xan and Carlos Sanchez. I think that’s pretty remote, but—”
“Don’t worry, we’ll check out everything,” Clements said, getting up and putting the pad away. “By the way, Dr. Bloom, are you right- handed or lefthanded?”
“Right- handed.”
“Thanks very much, Doctor. I’ll be in touch with you again soon.”
Clements left, but his last question lingered. Adam figured it must’ve been forensics related; maybe they’d figured out, or were trying to figure out, whether the killer was a righty or a lefty. Well, so much for not feeling like a suspect. That had lasted for, what, a minute?
Adam’s mother had been eavesdropping on the conversation from the other room— why wasn’t Adam surprised?— and she said, “See, he doesn’t think checking out Xan is so crazy. I told you, I got a bad feeling about him.”
“What can I say?” Adam said. “Maybe you should become a cop.”
“Maybe I should,” she said seriously. “But what about Marissa?”
“What about her?”
“I don’t like that she’s alone with Xan.”
“I’m not crazy about that either, but as soon as the police find his address I’m sure they won’t dilly- dally. They’ll send somebody right over there.”
“I think you should at least call her and let her know what’s going on. Better yet, tell her to come home. Tell her we want her here.”
“How’m I supposed to do that?”
“Please, just do it. I really want her here with us right now.”
While Adam knew his mother was overreacting, he was concerned about her getting too upset, what with her heart condition. Besides, he’d rather have Marissa home with them right now, too.
From his BlackBerry, he called her cell.
“Hello,” Marissa said.
“Where are you?” Adam asked.
“At Xan’s, what’s up?”
“Is he there with you right now?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Can you go into another room for a second please?”
“Why? What’s going on?” There was panic in her voice.
“Nothing bad,” he assured her. “I just need to talk to you in private for a second.”
Marissa took a deep breath, then another. “What is it?”
“Are you in another room?”
“Yes.” She was annoyed.
“We want you to come home,” Adam said.
“Why?”
“Because Grandma and I want you here, that’s why.”
“What for?”
“We just do, okay?”
“Look, I told you, I need some space—”
“Please don’t argue with me about this, Marissa. I want you to come home— without Xan.”
“Why can’t I bring Xan?”
“Can he hear you?”
“No, but why did you—”
“Please try to keep your voice down. I just want you here, okay? I want the whole family to be together. Just the family.” He knew this explanation was flimsy, but it was the best he could come up with.
“I’m not coming home, and I can’t believe you. You scared me. I thought there was some emergency or something.”
Adam shook his head and looked at his mother, who stage- whispered, “Tell her.”
“Look, you can’t tell Xan about this, but there’s something going on with the police, okay?”
“Why can’t I tell Xan?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why’re you being so mysterious?”
“They want to talk to him, okay?”
“To Xan?”
“Yes.”
After a short silence, Marissa asked, “Why?”
“I’m sure it’ll all be routine, but we’d rather you were here, so please don’t argue with me.”
Adam’s mother said, “Come home, Marissa,” probably loud enough that Marissa could hear.
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Marissa said. “What does Xan have to do with anything, and why’re you both freaking out?”
“We’re not freaking out,” Adam said. “There’re just some things I’ve been concerned about, and—”
“Wait,
you
did this?”
“I didn’t do anything—”
“What did you tell the police about Xan?”
“Can he hear you?”
“You’ll say anything, won’t you? Now what’re you trying to do, say that Xan killed Mom?”
“I said keep your goddamn voice down,” Adam said, raising his own voice.
“You’re pathetic, you know that? I can’t believe you’re doing this.”
“There’re things you don’t know, okay? Things that seem very strange—”
“Strange, that’s a good one. You know what seems strange to me? You. Yeah, you. The way you acted last week, on your big ego trip, then everything that happened with Mom, and now trying to blame my boyfriend, who I’m in love with. You’re the one I should be staying away from.”
“Marissa, plea—”
“Just leave me the hell alone.”
“Marissa... Marissa?...
Marissa?
” He realized she wasn’t there. “Damn it.”
“What is it?” his mother asked.
“She hung up on me.”
“Call her back.”
Adam tried but got her voice mail.
“Shit. Goddamn it.”
“What?”
“I think she turned her phone off.”
“Oh my God, so now how’re we supposed to get in touch with her?”
“Okay, let’s try to stay rational here. You’re getting very carried away, okay? There’s nothing to panic about. It’s not like she’s in any danger.”
“How do you know?”
“Let’s just wait, okay? Clements is probably on his way over there. The police have ways to—”
Adam’s landline rang. The display read restricted.
“Who is it?” Adam’s mother asked.
“I don’t know,” Adam said. He picked up and said, “Hello?”
“Dr. Bloom.”
“Hi, Detective Clements,” Adam said so his mother would know who was calling.
“Is it possible Xan has a roommate or uses another name besides the one you gave me?” Clements asked.
“Not that I know of,” Adam said. “Why?”
“We can’t find any listing for him in the entire city. There’s an Alexander Evonov in Brighton Beach, but you said he was living in Red Hook, right?”
“That’s what I understood.”
“It’s probably a different guy, but we’ll check it out. In the meantime, can you call your daughter?”
“I’m trying to reach her.”
“When you do, can you get Xan’s address and let me know it right away?”
Adam said he would.
With his mother hovering over him, Adam called Marissa several times and kept getting her voice mail before the first ring. There was no doubt her phone was off.
“Okay, let’s not panic, okay?” Adam said. “It didn’t sound like Clements was panicking. He probably knows that this whole idea of Xan having anything to do with any of this is very far out.”
“And what if you’re wrong? What if Xan killed Dana? What if he’s some kind of maniac?”
“Don’t worry, she’ll be fine,” Adam said. “I’m absolutely sure of it.”

They were on Xan’s couch, in the middle of the afternoon. He was holding her hand, caressing the inside of her wrist with his fingertips.
“Why would he tell the police to talk to me? I mean, I was with you when you talked to that cop, and if the cop wanted to ask me anything he would’ve asked me right then.”
“I know,” Marissa said. “But I have to admit it, it scares me.”
“Scares you how?”
“I think my dad’s getting desperate. Why else would he bring you, of all people, into it? Next thing he’ll be telling the police to talk to my freaking grandmother.”
“So you think he’s trying to take the blame away from himself?”
“Exactly. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to handle this— if my father really killed my mother.”
“Shh, don’t worry, you’ll get through it,” Xan said, squeezing her hand.
“I don’t want to see him again,” she said. “The sound of his voice just . . . just disgusts me.”
“Does he know where I live?” Xan asked.
“My father? I’m not sure. Why?”
“I just wonder if he gave the police my address, that’s all.”
“I didn’t tell him,” Marissa said, “but I guess the police will find you anyway. I’m so sorry my father’s dragging you into this, after all you’ve done for me, just being here for me. You’ve been so great.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Xan said, “You’re the only thing I’m concerned about. Is your phone off?”
Marissa nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Keep it off. You don’t need any more stressful phone calls today.” He kissed her gently on the cheek and then said, “How about something to drink? Water, Diet Coke?”
“Diet Coke would be great.”
He kissed her on the cheek again and then went to the kitchen area. She remained on the couch, ruminating about the phone call with her father, and then her gaze drifted toward the easel and one of Xan’s latest paintings. It was a large, abstract piece, and he’d used only red paint. He’d done a few other similar ones and had hung them on the wall. Maybe it was because he’d arranged the paintings in a group, but they really seemed to make a statement. For the first time she thought he actually had potential as an artist.
“I love your new paintings,” she said.
“Really?” he said as he poured the soda into a glass.
“Yeah, especially the one you’re working on now. It has so much emotion and passion. When did you paint these?”
“A couple of nights ago, before your mom’s funeral. Yeah, I’m pretty happy with them too. I guess I was just inspired.”
“Inspired by what?”
“I guess by what happened to your mom. It’s been very intense.”
Marissa was looking at the painting on the easel, noticing the deep shade of red. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” she said. “I mean, the way something awful can bring out art, the way art comes out of tragedy... I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m such a total mess right now.”
“Here you go,” Xan said, handing her the soda and then sitting back down next to her.
She took a long sip, then said, “I don’t know why everybody’s picking on you when you’re so great.”
“Who’s everybody?” Xan asked.
“Well, you said my grandma was giving you the evil eye, right?”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t say she was picking on me. You said it was because I’m not Jewish, right?”
“Yeah, but still. And then there’s what Darren said at the funeral.”
“What did
he
say?”
“I didn’t tell you?”
Xan shook his head.
“Oh,” Marissa said. “I was such a mess that day I didn’t know where I was half the time. But, yeah, he came up to me, I think in the chapel, before the ser - vice started and paid his respects, you know, told me how sorry he was. I don’t think you were there. I think you were with my father.”
“And then he said something?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah, but don’t get upset or anything. It was just Darren being Darren. He can be so annoying sometimes. Anyway, he said something to me like ‘So you’re still with that crazy guy, huh?’ Or, no, maybe it was like ‘You’re still with that lunatic, right?’ If I wasn’t so upset, already, grieving, I would’ve gotten really pissed off. I mean, first of all, there I was at a
funeral,
my
mother’s
funeral, so why is he talking about you at all? It’s so disrespectful. And I knew he was just saying it because he was jealous, because I haven’t talked to him in days but he read on my blog and heard from other people about how into you I am.”
“So what did you say to him?”
“I don’t remember really,” Marissa said. “Something like ‘What’re you talking about?’ And he was like ‘You want to know what he said to me the other night?’ He being you. So then he said it was when he kept bothering me at the bar and you went over to talk to him, you know, the night we met. He said you said to him that if you did I live?” Xan asked.
“My father? I’m not sure. Why?”
“I just wonder if he gave the police my address, that’s all.”
“I didn’t tell him,” Marissa said, “but I guess the police will find you anyway. I’m so sorry my father’s dragging you into this, after all you’ve done for me, just being here for me. You’ve been so great.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Xan said, “You’re the only thing I’m concerned about. Is your phone off?”
Marissa nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Keep it off. You don’t need any more stressful phone calls today.” He kissed her gently on the cheek and then said, “How about something to drink? Water, Diet Coke?”
“Diet Coke would be great.”
He kissed her on the cheek again and then went to the kitchen area. She remained on the couch, ruminating about the phone call with her father, and then her gaze drifted toward the easel and one of Xan’s latest paintings. It was a large, abstract piece, and he’d used only red paint. He’d done a few other similar ones and had hung them on the wall. Maybe it was because he’d arranged the paintings in a group, but they really seemed to make a statement. For the first time she thought he actually had potential as an artist.
“I love your new paintings,” she said.
“Really?” he said as he poured the soda into a glass.
“Yeah, especially the one you’re working on now. It has so much emotion and passion. When did you paint these?”
“A couple of nights ago, before your mom’s funeral. Yeah, I’m pretty happy with them too. I guess I was just inspired.”
“Inspired by what?”
“I guess by what happened to your mom. It’s been very intense.”
Marissa was looking at the painting on the easel, noticing the deep shade of red. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” she said. “I mean, the way something awful can bring out art, the way art comes out of tragedy... I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m such a total mess right now.”
“Here you go,” Xan said, handing her the soda and then sitting back down next to her.
She took a long sip, then said, “I don’t know why everybody’s picking on you when you’re so great.”
“Who’s everybody?” Xan asked.
“Well, you said my grandma was giving you the evil eye, right?”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t say she was picking on me. You said it was because I’m not Jewish, right?”
“Yeah, but still. And then there’s what Darren said at the funeral.”
“What did
he
say?”
“I didn’t tell you?”
Xan shook his head.
“Oh,” Marissa said. “I was such a mess that day I didn’t know where I was half the time. But, yeah, he came up to me, I think in the chapel, before the ser - vice started and paid his respects, you know, told me how sorry he was. I don’t think you were there. I think you were with my father.”
“And then he said something?” Johnny asked.
“Yeah, but don’t get upset or anything. It was just Darren being Darren. He can be so annoying sometimes. Anyway, he said something to me like ‘So you’re still with that crazy guy, huh?’ Or, no, maybe it was like ‘You’re still with that lunatic, right?’ If I wasn’t so upset, already, grieving, I would’ve gotten really pissed off. I mean, first of all, there I was at a
funeral,
my
mother’s
funeral, so why is he talking about you at all? It’s so disrespectful. And I knew he was just saying it because he was jealous, because I haven’t talked to him in days but he read on my blog and heard from other people about how into you I am.”
“So what did you say to him?”
“I don’t remember really,” Marissa said. “Something like ‘What’re you talking about?’ And he was like ‘You want to know what he said to me the other night?’ He being you. So then he said it was when he kept bothering me at the bar and you went over to talk to him, you know, the night we met. He said you said to him that if you didn’t leave me alone you were going to cut off his dick and feed it to him.”
Marissa smiled, trying to show how ridiculous she thought the whole thing was, but Xan remained deadpan and said, “You didn’t believe him, did you?”
“Of course I didn’t believe it. I knew he was just saying it to upset me, but that makes it even more disturbing because he was trying to upset me at my mother’s funeral.”
“What I told him was that he was causing a scene and he should leave the club before the bouncer kicked him out.”
“Yeah, I know, I figured you said something totally innocuous like that. But can you believe how pathetic Darren is that he’d actually make something like that up? . . . Is it hot in here?”
“I don’t think so,” Xan said. “Have some more soda.”
Marissa drank some more, then said, “I feel a little dizzy.”
“Want me to open a window?”
“Yeah, can you? Maybe it’s talking about Darren, it’s getting me sick.” Xan opened one of the windows. The breeze felt good.
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Marissa said. “I knew it was ridiculous, but I just wanted to tell you.”
“I’m not upset at all.” He sat back down next to her. “Feeling any better?”
“No, not really. I didn’t eat yet today, that’s probably it.”
“Drink some more soda, that’ll help.”
She took a few sips, then said, “It’s so weird.”
“What is?”
“I don’t know.” She felt very disoriented. “Just how my father and Darren are picking on you, of all people. You’re the best thing in my life right now. Honestly... I don’t know what I’d do without you . . . Wow, I feel really dizzy.”
“Here,” he said. “Lean on me.”
It was hard to see clearly. She wasn’t sure where she was.
She was looking at a painting. It was very red.