magnitude of what she’d done. A visit like that would take down both of them.
Groucho gestured her forward, and Jodie hesitated, suddenly tuning in to the sound of children in the room. She swallowed hard.
She’d get in and get out. No chit-chat with Novak, just a long enough visit to allay suspicion over Dixie’s handiwork. If she was quick, she might even get back to the art room before it closed and retrieve the mannequin she’d replaced inside the cupboard.
Jodie lifted her chin and stepped forward through the door. The din of voices filled the air. She took in the rows of tables and chairs, all occupied by inmates and their families. Most of the women in prison here were mothers.
She averted her eyes from the toddlers in the play area, and let her gaze travel the room. The windows in here were larger than most. Sunlight slanted through the grilles, casting trellises onto the floor. Jodie’s eyes followed the grid lines to the far corner of the room, where a dishevelled-looking man sat alone, drumming his fingers on the table.
Her arrival snagged his attention. He clambered to his feet, as she started off across the room. Up close, he looked younger than she’d thought: probably about her own age, mid-thirties at most, though his raggedy, days-old stubble made it hard to tell. She stood in front of him, assessing his unkempt, curly hair, the wrinkled shirt, the crumpled jacket slung across the back of his chair. He looked like he belonged in prison more than she did.
‘I’m Jodie Garrett.’
‘Yeah, I know. Matt Novak.’
He made as if to shake her hand, then glanced at the Officer in Charge and seemed to think better of it. He gestured instead at the chair opposite his, and waited for her to sit down before resuming his own seat.
‘Thanks for agreeing to see me.’
‘Actually, I didn’t.’ She went on, forestalling objections. ‘My cellmate forged the paperwork on my behalf, she thought the visit would do me good. I disagree.’
His expression shifted into neutral while he processed the information. He regarded her with clear, slate-grey eyes.
‘And yet you’re still here.’
‘I’m here for five minutes. We can talk about the weather or your favourite baseball team, but I’m not interested in discussing my past with you, Mr Novak.’
‘I think you’ll want to hear what I’ve got to say.’
He gave her a long, assessing look, and eventually, he added,
‘I was in court for your trial. You haven’t changed much. Thinner maybe.’
‘You were doing a story about me back then, too?’
‘No offence, but my story’s not about you.’
‘I see. Who, then?’
‘Your husband.’
‘Ah, I get it.’ Jodie closed her eyes briefly. ‘Successful lawyer, popular family man, tragically slain by evil wife.’
She felt her lips compress. The media had run that angle for months after the trial and she wasn’t about to submit to it again, not even for Dixie. She shifted in her seat, made a move to get up. Novak put out a hand.
‘Would it surprise you to know he was involved in fraud?’
Jodie cut him a sharp look. She thought of Ethan’s secretive nature; of the quick-thinking lies he’d routinely told, always doctoring reality to suit his own needs. Swapping one lie for another when he had to, adapting without notice to changes in circumstance.
She scraped back her chair. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me in the least.’
‘Don’t you want to hear about it?’
‘Not really.’
Novak’s flinty-grey eyes regarded her with speculation. ‘You don’t seem the type to fall for such a take-charge kinda guy.’
Jodie paused, and flung him a wry look. ‘Most people found him charming.’
‘I’ve been digging for three years, and his charm escapes me. Thought you’d be too smart for all that baloney.’
Jodie gave a rueful shrug, recalling how Ethan had been when they’d first met: clever, affectionate, impossible to dislike. He’d always worked so hard, always looked so tired from trying to do his best by his clients. But six months into the marriage, he’d already been devising small tyrannies: objecting to the time she spent with Nancy; belittling her painting; challenging her need to escape the suffocating house. Over the years, he’d flung many allegations at her, accusing her of affairs, often claiming that Abby wasn’t his daughter. Jodie had railed at him.
‘You want me to arrange a paternity test, Ethan? Is that what you want? I’ll do it, I’ll prove it to you!’
He’d smiled, looked smug. He’d always known his accusations weren’t true. He and Abby were so alike, all he had to do was look at her to see that she was his.
But Novak was right. Looking back, her radar should’ve flagged it at the start, should’ve warned that something was out of whack. In truth, her defences had been down. She’d been searching for her father at the time, desperate to find him and to finally know that maybe she looked like someone. Then suddenly she’d found out he’d been dead for twenty-three years.
He’d died in an accident at the age of nineteen. She’d talked to a few of the people who’d known him, come away with an impression of a quiet young man, kindhearted, well-liked. The discovery had left an aching emptiness, and Ethan had been there to fill it.
Jodie gave the journalist a level look.
‘People make mistakes, Mr Novak.’ She eyed his wrinkled clothes and uncombed hair, willing to bet he’d spent the night in his car. ‘I’m sure you’ve made your share.’
He dropped his gaze, seeming to take in his own appearance for the first time. He shifted uncomfortably, then flung her a challenging look.
‘So how come you stayed with him so long?’
Jodie debated whether to answer, then relented to make up for her pointed glance at his clothes. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I’d never had a home, and I badly wanted to give my daughter a stable one. Is that so hard to understand?’
He looked at his hands, clenched them together. ‘No. No, it isn’t.’
He went silent for a moment. Briefly, she wondered if she’d hit a nerve. He didn’t exactly look like a guy with a stable home life. She dismissed the thought and got to her feet.
‘Look, I’m sorry you were misled about the visit, but I really have nothing more to say to you.’
He gave a humourless laugh and shook his head. ‘I should’ve known.’
‘Known what?’
‘You were just the same in court, all polite and aloof. Like a brick wall.’
