Chương 3
He stepped back.
Ortiz separated the four of them into different rooms. Daniel was placed in a small consultation office with cream walls and a box of tissues positioned too neatly on a side table. A landscape painting showed a river at dusk. He stared at it while Detective Cole explained that the recorder would be taken into evidence and examined without altering its contents.
Daniel asked to photograph the serial number.
Cole hesitated, then allowed it after the technician documented the device.
“What happened to my wife’s original death investigation?” Daniel asked.
Cole sat across from him. He had a fleshy, open face that might have seemed friendly in another setting. “The medical examiner’s office has not issued a final report.”
“They told me accidental fall was likely.”
“Likely isn’t final.”
“She fell down a staircase at her mother’s house.”
“That’s what was reported.”
“By Margaret.”
“And by Ethan.”
Daniel leaned forward. “No one treated the house as a crime scene.”
“I wasn’t involved in that response.”
“Was anyone?”
“Captain Hayes, I understand why you’re angry.”
“No. You understand that I sound angry.”
Cole let that sit between them.
Daniel regretted the line as soon as he said it. It sounded prepared. Elena had hated prepared lines in arguments. She said they made her feel as though Daniel had held the real fight privately and invited her only to hear the verdict.
Cole opened a notebook. “Tell me how the recorder came into your hand.”
Daniel described every movement from the moment he bent over the coffin. He described the silver connector visible between Elena’s fingers, the pressure required to open her hand, the click, the accusation, Margaret’s lunge, Ethan’s dropped glass.
“Did you touch your wife’s body anywhere else?”
“Her wrist. Two fingers against the back of her hand. I didn’t move her arm.”
“Why did you reach for the device?”
“I didn’t know what it was.”
“Had you seen it before?”
“No.”
“Did your wife own a voice recorder?”
“She used her phone.”
“Did she ever tell you she feared her mother or brother might kill her?”
Daniel’s answer stalled in his throat.
“Not in those words.”
“What words did she use?”
“She said they were dangerous.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“How recently?”
“The last time was eleven days before she died.”
Cole’s pen stopped. “What did you do?”
“I asked what she meant.”
“And?”
“She said Ethan had taken money. She said Margaret was trying to control what she could access. She wouldn’t give me documents. She wouldn’t tell me whether she’d reported anything.”
“Did you believe her?”
Daniel looked at the painted river.
“I believed she believed it.”
Cole nodded once, not approvingly. “Were you living together?”
“Yes.”
“Any separation?”
“No.”
“Divorce discussions?”
Daniel rubbed his thumb against the side of his index finger. He could still feel the recorder there.
“We had problems.”
“What kind?”
“The ordinary kind, until they weren’t.”
“I need specifics.”
Daniel inhaled slowly. “I was away too much. She stopped telling me things. I pushed her to see a psychiatrist after she began sleeping badly and checking the locks. She said I was treating fear like an illness because it was easier than listening.”
“Was she taking medication?”
“A prescribed sleep aid sometimes. An anti-anxiety medication as needed.”
“Any history of substance abuse?”
“No.”
“Self-harm?”
“No.”
“Did you argue before her death?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“Her family. My work. The fact that she had packed a bag and put it in the guest room.”
Cole watched him carefully. “Was she planning to leave?”
“She said she needed space.”
“When did you last see her alive?”
“The morning before she died. I left for Fort Belden at six.”
“What was her mood?”
“Angry.”
“At you?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
Daniel looked at the tissue box and wanted, absurdly, to straighten it.
“I told her I couldn’t keep coming home to a crisis she refused to explain.”
“And she said?”
“She said, ‘Maybe you’ll understand when it becomes simple enough for a report.’”
Cole wrote it down.
Daniel heard Elena’s exact tone in the sentence: quiet, exhausted, a blade wrapped in paper.
“Did you call her later?”
“Three times.”
“Did she answer?”
“No.”
“Did you leave messages?”
“Yes.”
“Angry messages?”
“The first two.”
“And the third?”
“I apologized.”
“Do you still have them?”
“They’re on her phone.”
“Where is her phone?”
Daniel looked up. “I thought the police had it.”
Cole’s expression changed slightly.
“You don’t?”
“I’m asking where you last saw it.”
“It wasn’t returned with her effects. Margaret said Elena didn’t have it when they found her.”
Cole underlined something.
“What was returned?”
“Her wedding ring was kept on her. Purse, wallet, house keys, one earring, shoes. No phone.”
“Who gave you those items?”
“Margaret’s attorney arranged delivery from the hospital.”
Cole closed the notebook halfway. “What attorney?”
“Graham Pike.”
“Family attorney?”
“He represented Elena’s father’s estate and the Vale Foundation.”
“Did he represent Elena?”
“Sometimes. She had her own lawyer too.”
“Name?”
“Naomi Price.”
Cole opened the notebook again. “Did Ms. Price contact you after Elena’s death?”
“No.”
That answer bothered Daniel as soon as he gave it. Naomi had attended the wedding. She and Elena had remained close enough that her name appeared regularly on the kitchen calendar. Daniel had assumed grief explained the silence. Now the silence had edges.
Cole asked another hour of questions. Some repeated earlier ones with slight changes. Daniel recognized the method and still found himself irritated by it. He had questioned soldiers after accidents. Repetition was where memory loosened its grip on self-protection.
When the interview ended, Ortiz returned.
“We are requesting that the medical examiner delay release of your wife’s body,” she said.
“She’s already here.”
“The funeral home received authorization for viewing, not burial. We’ll arrange transport.”
Daniel stood. “You’re taking her back?”
“We need an examination with the new information in mind.”
“She was supposed to be buried tomorrow.”
May you like
“I’m sorry.”
The phrase did not soften anything. It did, however, sound like truth.
