Chương 5
“The threats were connected to my work.”
“Was she connected to your work?”
“I don’t know how much she knew or did.”
“You always say people do things for reasons.”
“They do.”
“What was her reason?”
Kesha looked at the faint outline of his shoulders beneath the blanket.
“Some people become so afraid of losing control that they decide other people’s lives belong to them.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It may be the only one she has.”
Noah rolled onto his back. “Did she hate us?”
“I don’t know if she allowed herself to think of you as real.”
His face tightened.
Kesha regretted that too.
She reached for his hand. He let her hold it, though he did not hold hers back.
“When I was pregnant,” she said, “I received messages I believed were from your father. They said terrible things. He received documents that said terrible things about me. Whoever made those lies knew what each of us was afraid to believe.”
“What were you afraid to believe?”
“That he cared more about his career than us.”
“And him?”
“I think he was afraid I had decided he would fail us.”
Noah stared at the ceiling.
“Did you?”
“Sometimes.”
“Was he going to?”
“I never got the chance to find out.”
Noah turned his hand beneath hers and finally closed his fingers around two of hers.
“That’s not fair,” he said.
“No.”
“Nothing about this is fair.”
“No.”
He was quiet for a while. “I still don’t want him to come tomorrow.”
“Then he won’t.”
Kesha kept that promise.
Daniel spent Christmas night in an interview room at the CID office, though he was free to leave. He stayed because leaving meant choosing where to go. The command residence remained sealed. Claire had taken her coat and departed with her sister without speaking to him again. Margaret left with her attorney, escorted through a side entrance to avoid the relatives who had gathered in the driveway to whisper and call other relatives.
Daniel sat beneath fluorescent lights and answered the same questions in different forms.
When had he last spoken directly to Kesha? Six years and seven months earlier, through a secure video call from Kuwait.
Who informed him of the pregnancy loss? His mother, first by phone, then through a letter from a physician.
Did he contact the physician? The number reached an administrative office. A woman confirmed the record.
Did he request medical details? He had no legal access because Kesha had supposedly withdrawn authorization.
Did he attempt to contact Kesha? Yes. Emails bounced. Calls went unanswered. A message arrived from her account telling him to stop.
Had he verified the sender? No.
Why not?
Daniel looked at the table.
Because the message sounded like what he feared she would say.
Harris waited.
Daniel rubbed the side of his thumb against a paper cup. “We had argued before I deployed.”
“About what?”
“My mother.”
“What about her?”
“Kesha believed my mother interfered in our marriage. I believed Kesha saw interference where there was advice.”
“Whose advice did you follow?”
Daniel looked at Harris.
“My mother’s.”
The answer remained in the room.
He described the final argument. Kesha had asked him not to tell Margaret about the quadruplet pregnancy until they had met with specialists. Daniel told her anyway. Margaret responded by discussing risk, finances, Kesha’s investigative workload, and Daniel’s promotion board. She had not told them what to do. She rarely did. She arranged facts until only one decision appeared respectable.
Kesha accused Daniel of letting Margaret into every room of their marriage.
Daniel accused Kesha of distrusting anyone she could not question under oath.
The secure call ended with both of them saying they were tired.
Three days later, communication stopped.
“What made you question the story eight months ago?” Harris asked.
Daniel looked toward the mirrored observation window.
“A casualty support officer asked me to verify a line on a records audit. My spouse was listed as deceased in a personnel database, but the supporting document field was incomplete. I assumed it was an administrative error. Then I noticed the state report number in my personal file did not match the county format.”
“You had kept the accident report?”
“My mother gave me a folder after the memorial. I had never opened it again.”
“Why did you open it then?”
“The audit required documentation.”
“And what did you do?”
“I searched the county archive. There was an accident on the date listed, but it involved a delivery van. No fatalities.”
“Why didn’t you report this immediately?”
Daniel looked down.
That question had no honorable answer.
“I thought it might be a clerical mistake.”
“For how long?”
“Two months.”
Harris leaned back. “Colonel.”
“I wanted to know before I accused my mother of fabricating my wife’s death.”
“And during those two months?”
“I contacted the hospital. The physician named on the letter had retired. She denied signing it.”
“Then?”
“I hired an investigator.”
“The same investigator your mother had recommended previously.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to see what he would do.”
That was the first answer that interested Harris.
Daniel explained that he had given the investigator limited information and a false lead. Within forty-eight hours, Margaret called to ask why he was reopening old grief. Daniel had not told her. He began tracking her movements, reviewing foundation accounts he was legally authorized to see, and searching old correspondence.
“Did you find Commander Reynolds?”
“No.”
“Did you find evidence she was alive?”
“No. I found evidence the death record was false.”
“That distinction mattered to you?”
“It had to.”
“Why?”
Daniel’s throat tightened.
May you like
Because if Kesha was alive, every year since the memorial changed shape. His promotions, his house, his relationship with Claire, the nights he had believed grief was the only loyal thing left in him—all of it became contaminated by a choice he had made not to look harder.
“I didn’t know what I would do if she was alive,” he said.
