A Son of a Bitch - Judy Albietz

Ten months since his wife died, Jason Miller was still living with unpacked boxes in his new apartment in Sacramento. He had moved out of Berkeley. Nobody straight out said they thought he killed his wife. None of his friends called him a “son-of-a-bitch” to his face. They just quietly pulled away. They were mostly her friends, anyway. The day after Deidre’s suicide, one of their friends, Richard, left a voice message “indefinitely” cancelling his standing Wednesday night tennis game with Jason. “Of course we don’t think you had anything to do with her death,” Richard said on the taped message. He didn’t return Jason’s calls.

Jason hated having to start fresh in the real estate market in another town. However, since the real estate business depends a lot on relationships, he knew he had no choice. He hadn’t received even one referral since Deidre died. And with the real estate market in the tank anyway, he might as well go back to the bottom of the totem pole in a new place.

Jason had been working that evening during the time period described by the coroner as “time of death.” The police didn’t even question his story about showing a house to a potential buyer. Jason thought about how true it was their marriage was in trouble. During his interview after Deidre’s body was found, the officer made a joke out of it, “If that’s a motive for murder, then more than half the people I know would be suspects.”

The fighting had increased during the last few months before she took her life. It was always some version of the same script: He said, “I want to make this work.” She said, “I want out.” He said, “You’re not even trying, you’ve become a cold fish.” She said, “You’re a weak, shallow excuse for a man.” He said, “I love you.” She said, “I don’t believe you.”

Jason had no idea when Deidre stole her cousin’s sawed-off shotgun. When had she learned to shoot a gun? Bruce kept it in the garage and Deidre knew where he kept the key. Jason found pieces of his wife’s skull and globs of her brain on the wall of the dining room of their house. He couldn’t stay in the same town with that house with molecules of her blood still embedded in the walls.