Chương 10
I watched a game show with the sound off.
I ate half a turkey sandwich.
I organized the disposable cups on my tray table by size and immediately hated myself for doing it.
Then I called the NICU.
The nurse told me Noah had taken almost an entire feeding from a bottle.
I cried over eighteen milliliters of milk.
Twenty minutes later, Brooks returned.
She glanced at the television.
“Did boring work?”
“No.”
“Worth a try.”
She was carrying a new folder.
I pointed at it.
“What now?”
“We got partial data from the burner phone.”
My body went alert before I could stop it.
“Messages?”
“Some.”
“With Michael?”
“We don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
“The other number was also prepaid.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course it was.”
“But there are location records.”
I looked up.
Brooks set a printed map on the table.
The burner had connected to towers near my neighborhood multiple times during the previous month.
Then near Michael’s gym.
Then near the office building where Ashley worked.
Then, two days before the hike, near an outdoor equipment store in Lakewood.
“What did they buy?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Can’t you just get the store records?”
“We’re doing that.”
“What else?”
Brooks pointed lower on the page.
“On the day of the incident, the phone connected near Estes Park at 2:11 p.m.”
My mouth went dry.
“That’s her.”
“It places the phone there.”
“She was there.”
“It strongly suggests whoever carried the phone was there.”
I nearly snapped at her, then stopped.
The distinction no longer felt like obstruction.
It felt like scaffolding.
“You’re building it so they can’t pull it apart.”
“That’s the idea.”
“What happened after 2:11?”
“The phone went dark at 5:18.”
“Turned off?”
“Likely.”
“Where?”
“Near the trailhead.”
My pulse rose.
“Ashley left with him.”
“Possibly.”
I gave her a look.
Brooks almost smiled.
“Fine.”
She tapped the map.
“The movement is consistent with that.”
“What about Michael’s phone?”
“His primary phone remained with him.”
“So they were careful.”
“Careful enough to make things interesting.”
She turned another page.
“There were eleven calls between the burner and the second prepaid number over six weeks.”
“How long?”
“Mostly under two minutes.”
“Any texts?”
“Deleted.”
“Can you recover them?”
“Some fragments.”
I leaned forward.
Brooks did not immediately show me.
“What do they say?”
“Not much.”
“That means something.”
“One fragment says, ‘Weather still works.’”
A chill moved across my shoulders.
“When?”
“Three days before the hike.”
I stared at the printed map.
Snow had been predicted that weekend.
Michael had insisted we go anyway.
He said fresh snow would make the trail beautiful.
Another fragment read, “She won’t bring anyone.”
My fingers went numb.
Brooks watched me.
“Claire?”
“He asked me to invite Rebecca.”
“What?”
“Two weeks before the trip.”
My mind moved backward through small domestic moments.
Michael standing at the kitchen island cutting an apple.
His casual suggestion.
Why don’t you ask Rebecca to come out sometime?
My immediate refusal.
We weren’t speaking.
His shrug.
“Then he knew she wouldn’t be with me.”
Brooks began writing.
“He asked specifically about that weekend?”
“No.”
“Think.”
“I am.”
The memory sharpened.
“He said maybe Rebecca could visit before the baby came.”
“When?”
“About two weeks earlier.”
“Anything else?”
I tried to breathe through the pounding in my head.
“I told him I didn’t want family drama before delivery.”
“And his response?”
“He said, ‘Fine, your call.’”
Brooks wrote the words down.
I laughed once.
“What?”
“I thought he was being considerate.”
Brooks did not answer.
The shame rose hot in my face.
“I made it easy for him.”
“No.”
“He checked whether anyone would be around.”
“You answered a normal question from your husband.”
“I told him exactly how isolated I was.”
“You were married to him.”
“That didn’t make him safe.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
She spoke more quietly.
“But you did not owe him suspicion every minute of your marriage.”
I said nothing.
The sentence stayed with me anyway.
By Thursday, Noah was breathing without supplemental oxygen.
The first time I saw him without the tubing across his face, I stared too long.
The nurse smiled.
“Different kid, huh?”
“He has Michael’s nose.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
The nurse’s expression changed slightly.
“Maybe.”
“No, he does.”
I touched the tiny bridge with one finger.
It felt unfair.
For hours afterward, I resented my son’s nose.
Then I resented myself for resenting it.
Motherhood, I discovered, offered no waiting period before guilt.
That afternoon, Rebecca went to Sarah’s office.
I learned because Brooks came in carrying a paper cup of decent coffee for once.
“Your sister is getting harder to manage.”
“That means she’s getting closer to the truth.”
“She found out Michael contacted Sarah.”
“How?”
“Sarah’s receptionist made a mistake.”
“What kind?”
“Rebecca called asking whether Michael had scheduled anything related to the trust.”
“And?”
“The receptionist confirmed an appointment before realizing she shouldn’t.”
I covered my face with one hand.
“Sarah must be furious.”
“She is.”
“What did Rebecca do?”
“Drove straight there.”
“Of course.”
“She demanded documents.”
“And Sarah refused.”
“Yes.”
“Then Rebecca yelled.”
“Some.”
“What does some mean?”
“Enough that building security appeared.”
I groaned.
Michael did not need to invent instability if Rebecca performed it in public.
“Did they remove her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Sarah calmed things down.”
“How?”
“She told Rebecca there was an active legal issue and advised her to stop creating records Michael could use against her.”
I lowered my hand.
“That worked?”
“Apparently.”
I smiled faintly.
“Rebecca likes lawyers more than police.”
“Everyone has defects.”
I looked at Brooks.
“Was that a joke?”
“Don’t spread it around.”
Her phone vibrated.
She checked the screen.
The humor vanished.
“What?”
“We got the outdoor store footage.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“Who?”
“Ashley.”
Brooks turned the phone toward me.
The image was grainy but recognizable.
May you like
Ashley stood at a register wearing a baseball cap and a gray sweatshirt.
She looked ordinary.
