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I would give anything to trade places with her right now, to give my life for hers, to bring her back."
"I know you didn't do it," Marcus said with true compassion. "You're confused right now, it's all right."
The two sat there quietly.
Marcus finally turned around and picked up the phone. "I'm going to call Mitch, I think you should talk to him."
"He won't get here in time."
"Time for what?"
"They're going to arrest me in--" Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold watch, flipping it open.
"Where did you get--"
"In thirteen minutes." Nick closed the watch and tucked it away.
"What? That makes no sense," Marcus said as he shook his head in doubt. "They're not going to arrest you."
"Shannon and Dance."
"What?"
"Detectives Shannon and Dance. The two detectives in my house right now will make the arrest."
Marcus had greeted the two detectives when they drove in the driveway, introducing himself, leading them to Julia's body. They told Marcus it would be best if he stayed over at his house until they were done. They asked about Nick and said they'd need to talk to him when they completed their preliminary investigation. They finally gave their names as Marcus headed out the front door: Detectives Shannon and Dance.
"You know them?" Marcus asked in confusion.
"I've never seen, or should I say, saw them , until they come over here to cuff me."
Marcus stared. "You're telling me you know what's going to happen?"
Nick nodded.
"Okay." Marcus fell silent. He put down the phone and took a seat in the leather wingback chair next to Nick. The sympathy in his eyes grew tenfold. "I don't suppose you can tell me what they're wearing?"
"Dance is in a blue, cheap blazer." Nick didn't miss a beat as he rattled off their attire. "White shirt, wrinkled tan pants. Shannon's an asshole with steroid arms bursting a girl-sized, too-small, black polo shirt and faded jeans."
Marcus tilted his head, taking a deep breath as he digested what Nick had said. He got up from the chair, walked to the window, and looked through the slatted wood shutters toward Nick's house. He could see the vehicles, a perfect, clear view of Nick's driveway where the cops had emerged from their cars. Nick could easily have been watching their arrival, but Marcus didn't want to challenge his friend in his current state of mind.
"Listen to me," Nick said, his words growing impassioned. "I'm not crazy. The Yankees--"
"Why are we talking about the Yankees?" Marcus grew concerned.
"The game going on right now, they win in the bottom of the ninth, off . . ." Nick's voice trailed off as he realized how silly he sounded, his head bowing in defeat.
The two friends sat silently for a moment, frustrated.
But then Nick looked up in revelation. "His ring finger . . . Dance's ring finger on his right hand, it's missing below the second knuckle."
Marcus remained silent.
"You know there's no way I could see that from your window," Nick said, alluding to Marcus's doubt. "And ask him about the fun he had at the Jersey Shore."
* * *
    M ARCUS WALKED OUT the side door of his house into the late summer sun of the day. His heart was broken for his friends. Julia had been as close to him as anyone in his life. She knew his heart and had helped him heal time and time again; she knew his mind and how prone it was to jump to conclusions; she knew his mistakes and misgivings, his weaknesses and suffering, and had never once turned away.
Julia and Nick shared a bond, a love that he could only dream of. They were the touchstone which he judged each of his marriages, making him realize even before he said "I do" that the promise of love till death do us part would never come close to what they shared. They were like one, it was always Julia and Nick, Nick and Julia; rarely were they referred to in the singular. They spent their free time together and each always put the other first.
Seeing her dead on the floor, so heinously robbed of life, so violated, was an assault on all reason. Who could