Home Sweet Murder

Leo sits at the table, reading a novel, while Sue moves around the kitchen preparing their dinner. They’ve been married forty years, and this has become their evening ritual: Sue cooking while Leo keeps her company. They have lots of friends and enjoy plenty of social opportunities, but on any particular day, if given the choice, they like to stay home together.

For all the money Leo makes at the law firm, they like a simple life.

Sue notices Leo’s empty glass of water and says, “Do you want me to get you a refill, Pie?”

“Pie” is her nickname for him.

“Sure,” he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Sue fills his water glass at the refrigerator and brings it to him. He looks up from the pages to offer her an appreciative smile.

“Thanks, Muffy.”

Leo has a kind face. It’s one of the things she’s always loved about him. She noticed it when he was a twenty-year-old kid with dreams of becoming a lawyer, and she notices it now, four decades later. He’s gained a few pounds and most of his hair has fallen out—and what hair is left has turned white—but the kindness behind his smile has never changed.

Sue turns back to the kitchen counter, where she is preparing a basting sauce for their chicken dinner. She pushes the sleeves of her white sweater up to her elbows to make sure she doesn’t get anything on them. She combines olive oil, garlic, thyme, sage, salt, and pepper. She pours the mixture over the chicken breasts, then uses tongs to flip the breasts over and coat both sides.

The oven isn’t quite preheated yet, so she turns her attention to a few dishes in the sink.

Then she has a thought.

“Pie,” she says, trying not to sound like a nag, “did you take your medicine?”

“I will in a minute,” Leo says, not looking up from his book.

Sue doesn’t say a word. Instead, she leaves the kitchen and walks through the living room toward the hallway leading to the back of the house. Their home is nice—spacious but not extravagant. In McLean, Virginia, there are certainly bigger, more expensive houses. Ten miles from Washington, DC, the suburban community is home to diplomats, businessmen, and high-ranking government officials.

Most of Sue and Leo’s income comes from Leo’s work as a partner for the Bean, Kinney & Korman law firm in nearby Arlington. He works on cases involving trademarks, copyrights, business transactions, corporate disputes—nothing particularly exciting by most standards, but nevertheless a career that has given them a comfortable life together.

Sue walks down the hallway. She isn’t sure where Leo keeps his pills. She checks their bedroom first. She flicks on the light and spots both of their cats, Twist and Shout, submerged in the thick, snow-white duvet covering Sue and Leo’s California king bed. Twist raises his head and whips his tail rhythmically while Shout purrs loudly.

“Hi, sweeties,” Sue says, running her hands along both cats’ soft fur.

On each side of their bed, she and Leo have their own nightstands. Leo’s is practically empty except for a lamp and a handful of books in his to-read pile.

No pills.

She doesn’t expect his medication to be on her side, but she checks anyway. There is nothing there but her face cream and a landline telephone.

She crosses through the bedroom into the bathroom they share. She checks his medicine cabinet. No luck.

She frowns. Where are those darn pills?

She leaves the bedroom and goes into Leo’s home office across the hall. Bookshelves line the back wall, filled with a wide variety of fiction and nonfiction titles, and decorated with framed photos and novelties purchased on their travels abroad. There is a love seat against one wall, with a couple throw pillows. A small end table sits to one side with a few more of Leo’s books lying on it. Leo’s desk, on the opposite wall, is neat and organized, with a large-screen desktop computer, another telephone, and a case file lying open. Sitting on the corner of the desk is a small bottle of prescription medication.

Sue checks the label to verify what it is.

Of course, she thinks. His heart is in his work, so why not keep his heart medication in his office?

She snatches the bottle off the surface of the desk and heads back to the kitchen. On her way through the living room, something catches her eye out the front picture window.

A vehicle is parked on the road at the end of their driveway. It’s an SUV of some sort, with its interior lights illuminated. She can make out two figures inside but, at this distance, can’t discern any details about them.

As if they can sense her watching, the lights inside the car go off, and everything behind the windows turns black.

It’s not unusual for people to park on the street in this neighborhood, but the properties are big enough, with long driveways, that people don’t often park anywhere but in front of the houses they’re visiting.

They must be lost, Sue thinks.

Maybe they stopped to look at a map or their GPS. Or to make a phone call or send a text.

But several seconds pass, and the car doesn’t move.

Sue suddenly realizes that they could be watching her, just as she had been watching them. The ceiling light is on, as well as a lamp in the corner, which would backlight Sue’s silhouette and make it easy for anyone on the road to see her standing there.

Sue feels goosebumps rise on her skin and she isn’t sure why.

She yanks the curtain closed and heads back toward the kitchen, telling herself there’s nothing to worry about.

The man at the door clearly isn’t a courier from the office. He is wearing a suit, but the fabric is wrinkled, as if he’s been sleeping in his clothes. Atop his head is a brown fedora like Harrison Ford wore in the Indiana Jones movies.

The man pulls a badge from his jacket, flashes it in front of Leo’s face, then makes it disappear back into his suit.

 “I’m Jeffrey Wilkins from the SEC,” the man says. “I need to come in and ask you some questions.”

“I don’t understand,” Leo says, trying to make sense of what is happening. “What is this about?”

“Sir,” the agent says, “it’s urgent that I come inside.”

The agent tries to step forward, but Leo doesn’t make room for him. The man stands uncomfortably close to Leo.

“Are you sure you have the right address? My name is Leo Fisher.”

“Time is of the essence. We’re investigating misconduct at your firm, and I need to ask you a few questions. We’re speaking with all the partners. I’ve just come from Mr. Korman’s residence.”

“On a Sunday night?” Leo says.

“Like I said, this is urgent.”

Leo’s heart starts to race. What is going on?

“I’m not at liberty to discuss matters relating to my firm,” Leo says. “Or my clients.”

“Even when something illegal is going on?”

“There is nothing illegal going on at the firm,” Leo says.

“You’re sure?”

“To my knowledge, yes.”  

The agent is probably in his thirties, but he has a chubby, boyish face, with a brown goatee and a sorry excuse for a mustache. Despite his youthful features, there is something in the man’s face that is disquieting. Anger seems to be bubbling just beneath the surface.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Leo says. “If you want to drop by the office tomorrow, I’d be happy to speak with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“If I come tomorrow,” the agent says, “I’m bringing a warrant—and police. I think it would be easier if we talk tonight. Off the record.”

Leo thinks for a moment.

“May I see that badge again?” Leo asks.

Leo expects the agent to oblige and show his badge, even if he is irritated by the request. But the agent does nothing of the sort.

Instead, he shoves Leo—hard—in the chest.

Leo stumbles back into the foyer. The man steps into the house and swings the door shut behind him. He throws the deadbolt.

Leo stares in disbelief.

Sue walks in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

“What’s going on?” she says.

“Ma’am,” the agent says with authority. “I’m with the Securities Exchange Commission. I have some questions for your husband.”

“Leo?” Sue says, turning to her husband. “I don’t understand.”

Leo can’t bear the look of confusion and fear on his wife’s face. This isn’t right.

“This is unacceptable,” Leo says to the agent. “I know the law. I know my rights. You need to leave.”

“You’re the one who did something unacceptable,” the agent snaps. “And you’re going to be in even more trouble if you don’t cooperate.”

“I demand to see your identification,” Leo says.

The man takes a deep breath, like a parent dealing with a petulant child. He reaches into his jacket. But he doesn’t pull out his credentials. He pulls out what looks like a toy gun from a science fiction movie.

The agent points the object at Leo, and in the instant before the man squeezes the trigger, Leo realizes what it is.

A chair sits in the corner with a small pile of Leo’s unfolded clothes. The agent brushes the clothes out of the chair and eases down onto its cushion as if the act of sitting is difficult. He takes off his hat and sets it on the floor. His hair is disheveled and flattened on one side from the fedora. His forehead is beaded with sweat.

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a prescription bottle. He pops a tiny pill into his mouth and swallows.

“This is outrageous,” Leo says. “This is a clear violation of our civil rights.”

The agent rises from his chair and looms over Leo and Sue.

“You’d be advised not to make this any more difficult than it has to be, Mr. Fisher. You know what you’ve done.”

Sue’s eyes widen, looking at Leo for answers.

He shrugs, a gesture meant to say he doesn’t have any.

The agent begins to pace back and forth in front of them like a cop on a TV show.

Sue has a strange surreal feeling—like she’s somehow been teleported from her normal life and dropped into an episode of The Twilight Zone.

This is our bedroom, she thinks. In our home!

And we’re being questioned in it like criminals!

“Leo Fisher, managing partner at Bean, Kinney & Korman,” the agent says, as much to himself as Leo. “And you’ve been there since 1990? Is that right?”

Leo nods, and the agent turns his attention to Sue.

“And you’re recently retired, isn’t that right, Susan? Enjoying the life of a housewife, are we?”

Sue glares at him. What kind of questions are these? What does her retirement have to do with Leo’s law firm?

“Will you just tell us what this is about already?” Sue says.

The agent glares at her. She feels like squirming under his gaze, but she holds her head high and does not look away.