“Because you’re going to try to drag in his other bad acts, aren’t you?” I am out with it. “A Molineux application.”
She hesitates. Her eyes linger on me and light up for an instant, as if I have just said something that fills her with happiness or maybe a new respect. Then just as quickly, those eyes shut me out again, and she says, “I’m not sure what I’ll do yet.”
I don’t believe her. I am the only living witness. The only one. She fully intends to suck me into itto put every one of Chandonne’s crimes on trial, all magnificently showcased within the small context of one poor woman he murdered in Manhattan two years ago. Chandonne is smart. But he may have made a fatal mistake on videotape. He gave Berger the two weapons she needs to shoot for a Molineux: identity and intent. I can identify Chandonne. I know goddamn well what his intent was when he forced his way into my house. I am the only living person who can counter his lies.
“So now we hammer at my credibility.” The tasteless pun is deliberate. She is swinging at me just as Chandonne did, but for a very different reason, of course. She doesn’t want to destroy me. She wants to make sure I am not destroyed.
“Why did you sleep with Jay Talley?” She is at it again.
“Because he was there, damn it,” I retort.
She erupts in a sudden salvo of laughter, deep throaty laughs that push her back in her chair.
I am not trying to be funny. I am disgusted, if anything. “That’s the banal truth, Ms. Berger,” I add.
“Please call me Jaime.” She sighs.
“I don’t always know the answers even to things I should. Such as why I had my moment with Jay. But I’m ashamed of it. Up until a few minutes ago, I felt guilty about it, so afraid I Used him, hurt him. But at least I didn’t kiss and tell.”
To this she has no response.
“I should have known he’s still in the locker room,” I go on as my indignation unfurls brightly before our eyes. “No better than those teenaged boys gawking at my niece in the mall the other night. Walking hormones. So Jay has bragged about it, I’m sure, told everyone, including you. And let me add…” I pause. I swallow. Anger is a lump in my throat. “Let me add that some details aren’t your business and will never be your business. I ask you, Ms. Berger, as a matter of professional courtesy, not to go places where you don’t belong.”
“If only others would abide by that.”
I make a point of looking at my watch again. But I can’t leave, not before I ask her the most important question. “You believe he attacked me?” She knows I am referring to Chan-donne this time.
“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t believe that?”
“Obviously, my eyewitness account turns everything else he’s said to the bullshit it is,” I reply. “It wasn’t them. There was no them. Only that goddamn son of a bitch pretending to be the police and coming after me with a hammer. I’d like to know how the hell he can explain that. Did you ask him why there were two chipping hammers at my house? I can prove from the hardware store receipt that I bought only one.” I push that point again. “So where did the other one come from?”
“Let me ask you a question instead.” She avoids answering me again. “Is there any possibility you only assumed he was attacking you? That you saw him and panicked? You’re positive he had a chipping hammer and was coming after you with it?”
I stare at her. “Assumed he was attacking me? What possible explanation could there be for him being inside my house?”
“Well, you opened the door. That much we know, right?”
“You aren’t asking me if he was an invited guest, are you?” I stare defiantly at her, the inside of my mouth sticky. My hands are trembling. I push back my chair when she doesn’t answer me. “I don’t have to sit here and take this. It’s gone from the ridiculous to the sublimely ridiculous!”