Chapter 30
BERNIE
Whitecaps ruffled the water and the grey sky was edged with menacing hints of yellow.
Bernie admired the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows as Marta and Imogen finished their half-hearted search of her bedroom.
When they were done, all three of them sprawled out in the sitting area.
Bernie could almost taste the awkward silence.
“I think we need to talk about next steps.” Bernie knew she had to be careful about how she broached the topic. It was crucial that they make the decision as a group. “Our friend is dead and we can’t help her. But it’s not too late to help ourselves.”
“What do you mean?” asked Imogen.
“I’ve been thinking about what would have happened if we’d been able to call the police,” said Bernie.
She’d been correct in her assumption that most people didn’t know that it’s still possible to place a call to emergency services without a signal, and she’d been relieved that neither Imogen nor Marta had actually tried dialing 911; they’d simply put their faith in the “no service” indicator at the top of their respective screens.
The “no service” indicator meant that their personal cell carriers didn’t have a tower nearby for regular coverage.
In order for an emergency call to go through, there just had to be a cell tower (any cell tower, owned by any carrier) near enough to pick up the signal.
During her fourth-year elective rotation in emergency medicine, Bernie had helped treat a patient who’d been helicoptered in—a severely lost hiker who’d known this cellular trick and thus narrowly avoided dying of exposure.
“It would have been a disaster. I know it’s technically the ‘right’ thing to do . . . but is it the right thing for us?”
“Of course it’s the right thing,” said Marta.
She’s not getting it. “Yes, I agree. Like I said, calling the police is the right thing to do.” Bernie tried to sound conflicted.
“But . . . it’s foolish not to acknowledge that a murder investigation would destroy us.
The legal fees alone would be ruinous. We’re familiar with how these things go; we’ve certainly read enough to know what it means to be a murder suspect.
Our faces all over the news. Guilty in the court of public opinion.
Our names forever linked with the crime, even when cleared of wrongdoing.
” Bernie spoke with conviction, which was easy, because everything she was saying was the truth.
She looked around to see how it was landing, and saw that while Imogen had a contemplative expression on her face, Marta looked agitated.
“For me, personally, and I am very aware that this is selfish, I’m up for medical director next month when my boss retires.
But the hospital board is risk-averse and there’s no way my candidacy will go forward if I’m under investigation.
I didn’t kill Celeste—if anything, having her on the board of directors would have helped me get the position—and I don’t want to sacrifice my future at her grave. ”
“That’s insane,” said Marta. “We shouldn’t call the cops because you’ve got a stupid promotion on the line?”
Bernie bristled. Why did no one seem to understand that what she did at the hospital in one afternoon mattered more than what most people could do with their entire lives?
“Imm? Are you seriously not chiming in right now?” asked Marta. But Imogen didn’t look at Marta, which sent a warm surge through Bernie’s stomach.
“She’s kind of right, though,” Imogen said in a quiet voice.
“Celeste was my only employee. That’s going to put my business under intense scrutiny, not to mention scare all my existing clients.
Add Celeste’s affair with Mark to the mix .
. . no one’s going to believe that I didn’t know it was going on, and that’s a gift-wrapped motive for a lazy detective.
Plus, I have Ari to think about . . . fuck.
Things are already bad enough. I don’t want to expose her to a murder trial. ”
Bernie bit the inside of her cheek. She knew she needed at least one of them to agree with her for this to work, and now that it was clear which way Imogen was leaning, she was hopeful they could see this thing through.
“No, this conversation is so wrong,” Marta said.
“One of you killed Celeste and if we don’t tell the police, then I’m basically complicit and .
. . hold on, hold on. Calling the police isn’t an option for us right now without a working phone, but Rick’s going to get here tomorrow morning and then he will call the police.
So what is even the point of this conversation? ”
Bernie was disappointed; she’d thought Marta was smarter than this. “No one calls the police. I’m saying that when Rick gets here, Celeste is a missing person. We make her body disappear.”