perfect drink.” He somehow commanded from the bartender the vodka bottle, a handful of lime wedges, a can of cranberry juice, packets of sugar. How did he manage that? He had that way about him. He was clearly used to being in charge, he didn’t even need to raise his voice. If anything, it was the reverse, he was so soft-spoken that you had to lean forward, you had to go to him . And you did so willingly.
John wasn’t dressed particularly well, a worn pair of jeans, and a T-shirt advertising some sort of golfing charity. It turns out he’d been at a boring function at the hotel next door, had slipped away for a break, decided to come into the bar. And he did exactly what he promised. He made me—us, because we shared it—the absolutely perfect drink, semisweet, with a sharp tangy aftertaste. And I was just gone.
Samantha Adams: So what did you know, and when did you know it?
MJ Taylor: Are you recording this? It’s just that you’re not taking any notes.
Samantha Adams: Oh right. I forgot to tell you. Yes, we are videotaping this. See the camera? Is that okay? Or rather do I have your consent to record this interview?
MJ Taylor: Of course, that’s okay. I have nothing to hide. Record away . . . What was the question again?
Samantha Adams: When did you find out about the other wives?
MJ Taylor: Oh, yes.
I was completely in the dark until I saw the death announcement in the Mercury News on Sunday. I’m one of the few people on the planet who still gets a newspaper delivered in the morning, one of the few who still enjoys turning the physical pages over coffee. I don’t usually read the death notices (I’m not that old, not yet) but I tend to flip through the various sections methodically. And a particularly large obit caught my eye. The photo alone was a quarter of a page. Then I saw the name. John Taylor.
I hadn’t known before then, how could I? John had called me Thursday morning, said he had to make one of his trips down to UCLA, there was an emergency case. He suggested I might want to visit friends in Oregon, I’d been talking about doing that for a while. But I decided I’d stay home, catch up with the house, work in the garden.
Samantha Adams: Did John often take off like that?
MJ Taylor: Of course, he had his hospital duties. Trips to conferences. His academic appointment down at UCLA. Nothing that struck me as unusual given the professional commitments of a man of his stature. Of course, now I feel like a fool. Bluebeard’s wife, finding the bloody chamber only after her vile husband has been apprehended.
Samantha Adams: So you hadn’t seen him for three days when you read the obituary?
MJ Taylor: Right. For two days he’d been dead, and I didn’t know, hadn’t felt it. I should have known ; I have certain gifts in that direction, I could tell you stories. But no. I had thought it odd John didn’t call, didn’t return my calls to his cell phone since Friday. That was unusual. But not completely unprecedented, either. He was a bit of a free spirit, John. It was one of the things I loved about him.
Samantha Adams: What was your reaction when you read the obituary?
MJ Taylor: My first thought was, what a good-looking man! The handsomeness of the man in the photo caught my eye, not the fact that it was John. A young man sitting at a piano, his fine fingers poised to play what you knew from his smiling face would be a happy song. I remember thinking, how sad, this attractive man dead, then I saw the name, went back to the photo, and recognized John.
Samantha Adams: And that was how you found out about Deborah?
MJ Taylor: Yes. A beloved wife. Of course, they have to say that, but it still hit me, hard. And three grown children! I thought of John’s lack of warmth (hostility even) to my boys, which I attributed to his never having had a child himself. How wrong I was. My life blew up, then, sitting at my kitchen table. Just shattered.
10
Excerpt from Transcript
Police interview
John wasn’t dressed particularly well, a worn pair of jeans, and a T-shirt advertising some sort of golfing charity. It turns out he’d been at a boring function at the hotel next door, had slipped away for a break, decided to come into the bar. And he did exactly what he promised. He made me—us, because we shared it—the absolutely perfect drink, semisweet, with a sharp tangy aftertaste. And I was just gone.
Samantha Adams: So what did you know, and when did you know it?
MJ Taylor: Are you recording this? It’s just that you’re not taking any notes.
Samantha Adams: Oh right. I forgot to tell you. Yes, we are videotaping this. See the camera? Is that okay? Or rather do I have your consent to record this interview?
MJ Taylor: Of course, that’s okay. I have nothing to hide. Record away . . . What was the question again?
Samantha Adams: When did you find out about the other wives?
MJ Taylor: Oh, yes.
I was completely in the dark until I saw the death announcement in the Mercury News on Sunday. I’m one of the few people on the planet who still gets a newspaper delivered in the morning, one of the few who still enjoys turning the physical pages over coffee. I don’t usually read the death notices (I’m not that old, not yet) but I tend to flip through the various sections methodically. And a particularly large obit caught my eye. The photo alone was a quarter of a page. Then I saw the name. John Taylor.
I hadn’t known before then, how could I? John had called me Thursday morning, said he had to make one of his trips down to UCLA, there was an emergency case. He suggested I might want to visit friends in Oregon, I’d been talking about doing that for a while. But I decided I’d stay home, catch up with the house, work in the garden.
Samantha Adams: Did John often take off like that?
MJ Taylor: Of course, he had his hospital duties. Trips to conferences. His academic appointment down at UCLA. Nothing that struck me as unusual given the professional commitments of a man of his stature. Of course, now I feel like a fool. Bluebeard’s wife, finding the bloody chamber only after her vile husband has been apprehended.
Samantha Adams: So you hadn’t seen him for three days when you read the obituary?
MJ Taylor: Right. For two days he’d been dead, and I didn’t know, hadn’t felt it. I should have known ; I have certain gifts in that direction, I could tell you stories. But no. I had thought it odd John didn’t call, didn’t return my calls to his cell phone since Friday. That was unusual. But not completely unprecedented, either. He was a bit of a free spirit, John. It was one of the things I loved about him.
Samantha Adams: What was your reaction when you read the obituary?
MJ Taylor: My first thought was, what a good-looking man! The handsomeness of the man in the photo caught my eye, not the fact that it was John. A young man sitting at a piano, his fine fingers poised to play what you knew from his smiling face would be a happy song. I remember thinking, how sad, this attractive man dead, then I saw the name, went back to the photo, and recognized John.
Samantha Adams: And that was how you found out about Deborah?
MJ Taylor: Yes. A beloved wife. Of course, they have to say that, but it still hit me, hard. And three grown children! I thought of John’s lack of warmth (hostility even) to my boys, which I attributed to his never having had a child himself. How wrong I was. My life blew up, then, sitting at my kitchen table. Just shattered.
10
Excerpt from Transcript
Police interview
Similar Books
