Investigation

John hires a private investigator to find out if Sadee is having an affair.

Transcript

Hi, I’m Wayne Jones. Welcome to Lies I Tell My Kids. This is episode 9, “Investigation.”

“Well,” I say, “let me get right to the point. I’m looking for a private investigator, someone like you, I think, to follow my wife for a while. Is that weird? Do you do that sort of thing?”

“John, that’s well over half my business, for both genders, though there are probably more women in my office than men. Overall.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Tell me a little more about your situation. What is it that brought you here? What are you trying to find out?”

“Okay, sure, Jesus, where to start? But you know, actually it’s pretty simple: I think she’s having an affair and I want to be sure if that’s true. I’ve confronted her, well, you know, mentioned it to her, accused her, I guess, but she’s outraged and says no. That’s the problem of course. If she is having an affair or not having an affair, she would have exactly the same answer. No.”

“Yes, you’re right. Unless she realized she was caught, and so panics and either rushes out a confession just to get it off her chest. Or the other way, what I’ve seen sometimes, is that the wife takes the opportunity of the accusation to calmly admit her indiscretion, and this leads to a conversation between the couple about getting divorced. There are various ways that things could go. But I’m getting ahead of myself. We’re not there yet. You’re not there yet. You’re at the beginning with a feeling, perhaps a few tidbits or odd bits of information, and you just want to know the truth in a way to prevent yourself from going crazy. Does that make sense? I don’t want to put words in your mouth or distort the situation.”

He sits back in his chair now, arms invisible below the desk, like a man who has made his point, or asserted his best professional opinion, and now is curious to see what the client thinks.

“That’s about right,” I say. “Kind of dead on.”

“So,” he says after I am silent for more seconds than I intended. He looks at me as if he is expecting me to say more, or is giving me one last chance before he does something categorical. I smile weakly at him and, illogically, nod.

“So, I want you to know first that I am professional and discreet, and that apart from finding out as much as I can, my utmost promise is confidentiality. Nobody in my family or circle of friends will know even in generic terms what I’m doing. I know some other guys in this business and the things they tell me—like chatting openly with their wives about the client, or divulging some so-called juicy detail that they’ve found out. I don’t do that. My family and friends know I don’t do that and they don’t ask any more. So I want you to feel secure that not only is everything I am doing completely legal, but you and I are the only two people who will know about it.”

I nearly cry at this. “Thank you, Josh, thanks so much. That’s important to hear and very important to me. I feel a bit better already.”

“Yeah,” he says, “I thought I noticed that you were, I’m not sure how to phrase it, a little off or nervous or unengaged in a way. Don’t be like that. No need. Just trust me.”

“Okay,” I manage.

“Okay,” he echoes. “One of the things that I’ve found helps with discretion is that I operate a cash-only business. I do report my income and pay my taxes, but I don’t want any transfers of funds from you or anything like that. I ask for half the fee up front, and the other half when I’ve finished.”

“That sounds reasonable. I don’t have much cash on me now but I can get it to you tomorrow.”

“The fee to start is five thousand dollars, so if you can bring me twenty-five hundred tomorrow, that would be great. I’ll get started right away.”

“That sounds good. Thank you again.”

“The only think I need to know is your full name, her full name, and your home address.”

“Yes, sure, I’m John Nabbon. N-A-B-B-O-N. And my wife’s name is Sadee. With two e’s, S-A-D-E-E. We have a house at 130 Twenty-first Street.”

“Okay, noted. And I think that’s all for now,” he says, standing up but staying behind his desk. He extends his hand and I feel embarrassed that my hand is sweaty when I reach out to give the handshake that he initiates. He looks me in the eye, and perhaps I’m going soft during this whole business, but his own eyes seem kind, concerned, even worried about me.

“You’re in good hands,” he says, and then turns his back and sits down at his computer behind him. I exit quietly.

The meeting, short as it was, has drained me. I don’t go directly to the car but instead walk the sidewalks. It’s bustling and then quieter and then I seem to be the only person in the whole downtown, and that cycle persists as I evolve from a stiff walk to a leisurely stroll back to the car. I head for the mall to get the necessities for this afternoon’s outing, and I smile like a fool when I even remember that Sadee wanted more rice cakes.