“Those murders,” Bebe guesses.
“She was staying overnight at his house and woke up to find him gone from the bed. She thought he might be downstairs, so she went to find him and ended up catching him on a phone call. He didn’t see her, but the conversation she overheard sealed his fate, and now apparently hers.”
“She overheard him confessing to the murders?”
“Not exactly. She heard him say, ‘It’s done. Unfortunately, the kids woke up,’ and then laughed about that. Her first thought was he was cheating on her and was perhaps talking about being with another woman and was talking about her kids. But then he spoke in Russian, and that was her first indication something was very wrong. To her, Alex Smith was an American. Born and raised here and had an American accent.”
“I can only imagine how weird that was.”
“It got weirder, because she then heard him say, ‘I dumped it over a bridge. It’s good.’”
“Was he talking about the gun?” Bebe asks.
“He was, but Jess didn’t know that at the time.”
“How did she connect all that to the murders?”
“The next morning, she saw the news reports of the murders. It was the two children who connected the dots for her.”
“Jesus,” Bebe murmurs. “What a thing to stumble into.”
“She went straight to the police and told them what she knew. They were confident Borovsky was the killer, especially with the comment about dumping something over a bridge. They were sure it was the murder weapon. They weren’t, however, prepared to make an arrest right away as they first had to bring the case to the DA for approval. That meant Jess had to stay with that man and play it cool so he wouldn’t get suspicious.”
Bebe makes a choking sound. “My God, she’s a strong woman. I can’t imagine doing that.”
“She’s the strongest,” I agree softly, but I know what a horrible strain that was on Jess. Because playing things cool meant she had to continue to act the girlfriend in all respects.
The night she overheard Borovsky on the phone, Jess crept back upstairs and pretended to be asleep when he came into the bedroom. He woke her up and wanted to have sex. She most certainly didn’t want to because, in her gut, she knew something was wrong, but she was afraid to deny him. Afraid that he would know she overheard him. God, it makes me sick to think about her being intimate with that monster and that she had to continue to play that part until he was arrested.
It breaks my heart—no, it shreds it with a rusted razor—to know how that traumatized Jess, those few days she had to stay and act like everything was fine, even when he touched her. She felt violated each time, and it made her feel ashamed. I only know all this because she told me the painful details one night over a shared bottle of wine and a lot of tears.
I’ve never wanted to kill someone before, but I know that given the chance, I would gladly put a bullet in that man’s head without a moment’s hesitation nor an ounce of moral regret. Even if it landed me in prison.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Bebe says, and I hadn’t realized I’d lapsed into silence.
“She said she loved me a few minutes ago.” The admission to Bebe shocks me, but there was apparently no holding those words back.
I expect Bebe to gush and be at the ready to give advice on what to do. Instead, she asks a bruising question. “How come you never told me about her?”
Guilt flushes through me because Bebe knows me about as well as Jess does. These past months working side by side, sometimes seven days a week, has made us extremely close. I was her shoulder to lean on when she was trying to figure things out with Griff, and I expect she feels betrayed I wouldn’t lean on her regarding Jess.
But I wasn’t troubled about Jess, and that’s the difference.
“There was nothing to tell, Bebe. I was happy being her friend. I was ecstatic to be Thea’s godfather. I didn’t need your sage advice or wisdom.”
“You’re an idiot,” she snaps. She called me that just yesterday, and given my IQ, not many people make that claim.
“Why’s that?” I ask dryly.
“Because I’m not just a friend that you dump problems on, although I’m happy to support you. I’m a friend you should share the good things with too. On top of that, I call absolute bullshit that things were fine being friends, or else you would’ve had no problem mentioning your weekend trips were to see them and not some hot number I thought might be a throwback from your college days.”
I’m duly chastised and can’t argue with a thing she’s said. And I suppose I need to be honest about something. “Because while I’m happy being her friend, I know if I told you the whole story about Jess—about me and her and Chase—and the way things ended for Chase, you would’ve absolutely seen through me. You would have known I had feelings for her, and you would’ve pushed me to do something.”