Chương 4
His lungs were functioning.
His temperature was stabilizing.
There were still concerns about what the trauma and oxygen deprivation might have done, but no one could tell me yet.
I held him for the first time that afternoon.
A nurse arranged tubes and wires while I sat in a recliner beside the incubator.
Then she placed him against my chest.
He weighed just over six pounds.
He felt lighter than the fear I had carried for him.
His head fit beneath my chin.
His breath came in tiny uneven bursts against my skin.
“Hi,” I whispered.
It seemed inadequate.
I had spent months imagining what I would say to my son the first time I held him.
Nothing I had imagined survived the mountain.
“I’m sorry.”
His fingers twitched.
I swallowed.
“That’s a bad start.”
The NICU nurse glanced over.
“You’re doing fine.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“I know.”
There was kindness in her voice, but she turned away and gave me privacy anyway.
I touched Noah’s back with two fingers.
“I picked the wrong man.”
Saying it aloud made me ashamed.
Not because Michael’s crime belonged to me.
Because there had been a thousand smaller moments before the cliff, and I had trained myself not to see them.
He mocked waiters when they made mistakes.
He borrowed money from friends and forgot to repay it.
He called my employees incompetent when they disagreed with him.
He complained that my success made people treat him like an accessory.
When I became pregnant, he began talking about how much easier my company would be to manage if I stopped working.
Each incident had been small enough to forgive in isolation.
Together, they formed a man I had refused to assemble.
Noah sneezed against my chest.
It was absurdly tiny.
I smiled before I could stop myself.
“You sound offended.”
His face wrinkled.
“Yeah, me too.”
That evening, Brooks returned carrying a paper bag and no coffee.
“What happened to your terrible drink?”
“I’m growing.”
She pulled a chair close to the bed.
“Your phone was manually powered off at approximately 4:52 p.m.”
My heart began beating harder.
“What time did I fall?”
“Based on rescue data, likely between 4:35 and 4:50.”
“So after he pushed me.”
“Probably.”
“Meaning he went back to the car.”
“Or someone did.”
“Ashley.”
“Maybe.”
I bit down on my response.
Brooks noticed.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Not making me say the word.”
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
She opened the paper bag and removed two packets of crackers.
“Your husband’s phone connected to his vehicle at 5:06.”
“Where?”
“The parking area.”
“So he went back.”
“Yes.”
“What about Ashley?”
“That gets complicated.”
I sat straighter.
“How?”
“We haven’t found any record placing Ashley Bennett inside the park yesterday.”
My skin prickled.
“She was there.”
“I believe that you heard someone you identified as Ashley.”
“I saw her.”
“From the ledge?”
“For a second.”
“Clearly?”
“No.”
The answer escaped before I could protect it.
Snow had been blowing across my face.
Ashley had been above me, mostly a silhouette.
The voice had been hers.
I was certain of that.
But certainty was beginning to feel like something lawyers could cut apart with scissors.
“Her phone was in Denver,” Brooks said.
“She left it there.”
“Possibly.”
“Where?”
“At her apartment?”
“No.”
Brooks broke one cracker in half.
“At a restaurant.”
“Someone else had it.”
“Maybe.”
“You keep saying maybe.”
“It keeps being true.”
I wanted to throw the plastic cup of water beside me.
Instead, I gripped the blanket.
“Was she at the restaurant?”
“Security footage shows a woman entering with Ashley’s phone in her purse.”
“What woman?”
“We’re working on that.”
“Could it be Ashley?”
“No.”
The room seemed to narrow.
“Then she planned an alibi.”
“That is one interpretation.”
Brooks ate the cracker and brushed salt from her fingers.
“Here’s another problem.”
“Of course there is.”
“Michael didn’t leave the park immediately.”
I frowned.
“What did he do?”
“He spent forty-three minutes walking trails near the parking lot.”
“Why?”
“He says he was searching for you.”
“He knew I was below the cliff.”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone see him?”
“Several people.”
The answer hit me slowly.
“He made sure people saw him looking.”
“That is possible.”
“He was building the story before he reported me missing.”
“Also possible.”
I stared toward the darkening window.
“He planned everything.”
Brooks said nothing.
“He knew about the insurance.”
“He was the beneficiary.”
“He knew where there were no cameras.”
“We haven’t established that.”
“He moved my phone.”
“Likely.”
“He arranged Ashley’s alibi.”
“We don’t know that.”
I turned toward her.
“What would be enough for you?”
“To arrest him?”
“Yes.”
Brooks placed the crackers back inside the bag.
“Enough that I don’t arrest him on Monday and watch him walk free on Tuesday.”
That silenced me.
She continued.
“If this was planned, I want the planning.”
“How?”
“Money.”
“Michael doesn’t handle our major finances.”
“That may help us.”
“He has his own credit cards.”
“We’re obtaining records.”
“He’ll notice.”
“Not immediately.”
My pulse quickened.
“What else?”
“Communication between him and Ashley.”
“They’ll have deleted it.”
“Deleted isn’t always gone.”
“And if they used another phone?”
“Then we find that phone.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It isn’t.”
Brooks leaned back.
“It may take weeks.”
Weeks.
The word frightened me more than I expected.
Michael free for weeks.
Michael sleeping in our house.
Michael touching my clothes.
Michael answering condolences.
Michael deciding what happened to my belongings.
“What about my company?”
Brooks paused.
“What about it?”
“If everyone thinks I’m dead, the board will act.”
“Who takes control?”
“My chief operating officer temporarily.”
“Do you trust them?”
I thought of Thomas Reed, who had worked beside me for nine years and had once slept on the office floor during a ransomware attack because he refused to leave the engineers alone.
“Yes.”
“Then let him do his job.”
“Michael owns shares.”
“How many?”
“Seven percent.”
“Voting rights?”
May you like
“Some.”
Brooks’s expression changed.
