Free Close to the Bone by William G. Tapply Page A

didn’t talk much about his work. When he did, all he’d say was that he was keeping bad guys out of prison. He didn’t really complain about it, at least not at first. It took me a while to realize that he was trying to protect me. He didn’t want to make me unhappy or to make me feel like he was suffering on account of me. But I knew he didn’t believe in what he was doing. And he kept getting worse. He kept winning cases, and they’d reward him by giving him nastier people to defend. I mean, he had that child molester, and he had that Mafia man, and then he got that drunk driver—”
    “I talked him into that one.”
    She shrugged. “It didn’t matter. If it hadn’t been that man, it’d’ve been someone else. The point is, gradually we just stopped talking. I finally started telling him he should quit and go back to work for the DA. He’d just smile. I tried to talk him into getting help. He was depressed, and I was worried about him.”
    “Did you ever think—?”
    “He’d kill himself?” she said. “Is that what you think happened last night?”
    “He’s seemed awfully depressed to me last time I saw him.”
    She shook her head. “I don’t know. He had his fishing. During the season, he seemed okay. Getting out on his boat alone at night always seemed to make him happy.”
    “He’d been worse lately, though?”
    She smiled. “He never left me before.”
    I nodded.
    “It was his idea, Brady. I didn’t stop loving him or wanting to be with him. But he felt it was the only thing left to do. I don’t know, maybe he thought it was just the only way left that would protect me. I never felt he didn’t love me. But he was tortured, and he knew I was miserable. Even the fishing didn’t help him anymore. He was desperate. I think part of it was that he put a lot of pressure on himself, trying to be admirable for me. He figured if he despised himself, I must despise him, too. I didn’t. I loved him. But if we got divorced, he could stop worrying about how I felt about him. Does that make any sense?”
    I shrugged. “I guess so. As much as anything makes sense.” I took a sip of coffee, then said, “Did you ever go out on the boat with him?”
    She frowned. “What…? Oh. You mean, did I know how to operate it? Did I know his routines?”
    “Yes.”
    “Could I have gone out with him last night, you mean.”
    I nodded.
    “I could have. I mean, I’ve got nobody to say I didn’t. But I didn’t. But, yes, I went out with him a few times, especially… before. Before he changed jobs. It was sort of fun, but I knew he really liked it best when he was by himself. I could drive a boat, yes, and I could stun an eel and rig it on a line, and I knew how to read the currents and the tides and how to get a good drift through a rip. I didn’t much care about the actual fishing. But I liked being on a boat with Paul at night. And I guess I could’ve been there last night, and I could’ve picked him up and thrown him overboard and then swam to shore and…”
    I took both of her hands in mine. “Hey,” I said softly.
    “I know. I’m sorry, Brady.”
    “Just as long as you’re telling me the truth.”
    She nodded. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
    “I don’t know. Let’s talk to the police. Maybe they’ve learned something.”

9
    O LIVIA LEFT HER CAR in the Friendly’s lot and rode with me into the business center of Newburyport. We parked in the municipal lot and headed for the police station. Newburyport, like most of the cities along the New England coastline, began as an old seafaring town because of its sheltered harbor. It was a fishing town and a trading town that grew and flourished inside the mouth of the Merrimack River. During the Industrial Revolution in the second half of the nineteenth century, factories were built along the riverbanks. Then, inevitably, the factories shut down and the merchant shipping industry faltered and Newburyport went through the