Skin Deep

53

The Pendergast arrest and suicide was the kind of story the media loved.

For the next two days the local papers and news shows were all over it like seagulls to garbage: popular college prof suspected in the strangulation murder of stripper student sent to jail where either out of guilt or disgrace he’s found hanged, some commentators noting the symmetry of justice.

As expected, Pendergast’s family members and friends protested that the police had targeted him for past mistakes and had arrested him on “exaggerated evidence.” They presented him as a popular teacher whom students had invited to their homes, to graduation parties and weddings; a first-rate educator who had done good things in the eyes of the student body and the community, teaching writing workshops in local high schools and visiting book groups in senior centers. A sister threatened a lawsuit against the Boston P.D. for wrongful arrest and criminal neglect in his death, arguing that he should have been given psychological counseling and put on suicide watch.

Of course, the D.A.’s office expressed regrets and offered condolences to the family. However, when asked by a reporter if the case was closed, the D.A. said that at this point in time Mr. Pendergast remained their most likely suspect.

Steve muted the television in the middle of another rant about a travesty of justice by Pendergast’s lawyer—most of which Steve agreed with. He was in the Queen Anne chair sipping a beer. His eyes had come to rest on the fireplace photo of him and Dana in Jamaica. The jangle of the phone brought him back.

“What are you doing?” Dana asked.

“Sitting here thinking about you.”

“Are you drinking?”

He couldn’t lie. “I’m having a beer.”

“Beer?”

“I’m ramping down. And before you ask, stopping at two, which I read is good for you.”

“That’s red wine.”

“Oh, boy! Then after I finish this I’ll have two Merlots.”

He heard her chuckle. “You don’t need the beer.”

“It helps me think about you.”

“Now you’re trying to put a guilt trip on me.”

“And apparently it’s not working.”

“The papers are saying that Pendergast’s suicide was tantamount to a confession.”

“That’s what they’re saying.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I’d like to—”

Oh, do I ever!

“—since that would close the case.”

And get the spike out of my back.

“But they’re saying that he might have taken his life because he was mortified by the charges and the exposure of his past offenses. Wasn’t he coming off a year’s suspension?”

“Yes.”

“Which means he was probably already anxious about returning to the classroom in the fall.”

“I’m sure. Conviction or not, his future wasn’t bright.”

“Didn’t you say he was on medication?”

“For depression and anxiety.”

“Then he was a high-risk candidate for suicide. So why wasn’t he put on suicide watch?”

“I guess the psychiatrist didn’t think he was a danger to himself.” And then he thought, Because nobody alerted the correctional authorities.

“Maybe this closes the case for you.”

Steve uttered a noncommittal “Yeah.” There was nothing more that he wanted. If Pendergast had done it, that would be exoneration for both him and Neil. But that had yet to be determined. The case was still open as Pendergast’s connection to Farina continued to be investigated.

“But I have a funny feeling that you didn’t call because of the Pendergast case.”

There was a pause. “I’ve decided to get a nose job. The doctor hasn’t scheduled it yet, but he’s trying to before he goes on vacation.”

“And you called to ask if I thought it was a good idea?”

“No, I called to tell you. In a few weeks I’m going to look different. He’s got software that creates afterimages. He showed me what I’d look like, and I think it’s a nice improvement.”

He was quiet for a few moments.

“Does this bother you?”

“Yes.”

“But it’s something I’ve always wanted.”

“And it sounds like a prelude to divorce.”

“I’ve got to go,” she said out of the blue.

“You mean you have a date.”

“I’ll talk to you next week.” And she hung up.

He stared at the phone for a protracted moment, thinking, My marriage is over.