Chương 4
“You asked if I was sure.”
“I shouldn’t have asked it that way.”
“But you didn’t believe me.”
Alexander wanted to deny it.
That would have been easy.
He had done easy things all week. Thanked people at the funeral. Shaken hands. Accepted casseroles from neighbors whose names he barely knew. Signed forms without reading them because Mara pointed at the lines.
“I didn’t understand what you were telling me.”
“That’s different?”
“Not enough.”
Ethan rubbed granola dust from the wrapper with one finger.
“Mom did.”
Alexander’s throat tightened.
“What did she say?”
“She said if I saw something weird again, I should tell her.”
“Again?”
Ethan froze.
Alexander felt every instinct in him surge toward the next question.
Ortiz had told him not to ask.
He gripped the mattress instead.
“You don’t have to tell me now.”
Ethan looked relieved.
That hurt too.
Alexander went into the bathroom and closed the door halfway.
He stood over the sink.
For six days, grief had felt like an injury. Something done to him.
Now another possibility was taking shape.
Claire had been frightened before she died.
She had noticed things.
She had asked questions.
And Alexander, somehow, had missed all of it.
He took out his wedding band and turned it around his finger.
Then he called his father.
Harrison answered on the third ring.
“Alex.”
The voice was immediate, concerned.
“Where are you?”
Alexander looked through the bathroom door at Ethan.
“Why?”
“Because I went to the house. No one knows where you took the boy. Your security team says you left without them. What the hell are you doing?”
Alexander stared at the mirror.
“How did you know I left?”
A pause.
Then irritation.
“Because I called the house.”
“Why did you go there?”
“To check on you.”
“At nine thirty at night?”
“Your wife died six days ago. Forgive me for being worried about my son.”
Alexander nearly laughed.
Not from humor.
He had been forty years old for three months. Harrison could still make him feel seventeen with one sentence.
“Where’s your ring?”
Silence.
Not long.
Long enough.
“What?”
“Your signet ring.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Where is it?”
Harrison exhaled.
“Alex, you sound exhausted.”
“Where is your ring?”
“I don’t know.”
Alexander’s fingers tightened around the phone.
“You don’t know.”
“I haven’t worn it recently.”
“Since when?”
“My hand has been bothering me.”
Alexander remembered the funeral.
Harrison standing in the receiving line in a dark navy suit, one hand resting on his cane.
Alexander could see the hand.
Wedding band.
No signet.
“How long?”
“I don’t keep a diary of my jewelry.”
“Did you lose it?”
“I may have misplaced it.”
“Before Claire died?”
Another pause.
“Why are you asking me this?”
Alexander did not answer.
His father’s voice changed.
“Where are you?”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Alexander.”
He had not been called that by his father in years unless Harrison was angry.
“You do not take Ethan somewhere without security because you’re upset. You are not thinking clearly.”
Alexander looked at the crooked sailboat print he had straightened.
“I’m thinking more clearly than I have in a long time.”
He ended the call.
His hand shook afterward.
He hated that too.
The next morning, Ortiz called at seven twelve.
“Don’t turn on the television.”
Alexander, who had not been about to turn on the television, said, “Why?”
“Your wife’s letter leaked.”
He sat up.
Across the room, Ethan was asleep with the shark book open against his chest.
“What do you mean leaked?”
“A local station says it has information that Claire left a written statement alleging she feared foul play.”
“Who told them?”
“We’re trying to determine that.”
“Your department has the letter.”
“So does Ms. Chen’s office in scanned form. So potentially does anyone who accessed the courier records, your household staff if they knew about the delivery, and whoever called you.”
Alexander swung his feet onto the carpet.
“My father?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I’m saying don’t make assumptions faster than evidence.”
His phone vibrated with another call.
Then another.
He looked at the screen.
Board chair.
Communications director.
Unknown number.
His assistant.
Harrison.
“Too late,” Alexander said.
By eight, photographs of the Vale mansion were on television.
By nine, two news vans were outside the front gate.
By ten, the Vale Foundation issued a statement expressing grief, requesting privacy and saying it had no knowledge of any threat to Claire before her death.
Alexander read the statement twice.
Then he called the foundation communications director.
“Who approved this?”
There was a pause.
“Mr. Bell.”
Of course.
“Did he speak to my father?”
“I assume so.”
“Don’t assume.”
“Alex—”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know.”
Alexander ended the call.
Ten minutes later, Owen Bell called him directly.
Alexander stared at the name before answering.
“Alex.”
Same measured pace.
But not the same voice.
Or maybe it was.
Memory became unreliable when you wanted it to mean something.
“I’m sorry about the press,” Owen said.
“Are you?”
“That’s a strange question.”
“I’m having a strange week.”
“I can imagine.”
“No, you can’t.”
Owen allowed the insult to pass.
He was good at that.
“Harrison is concerned. So am I. The foundation statement was intended to contain speculation.”
“It confirmed enough to feed it.”
“We were already getting calls.”
“Who told you what the letter said?”
A small pause.
“The station reported the allegation.”
“The station’s first report came after your statement was drafted.”
This silence was longer.
Alexander sat at the hotel desk.
“You’re tired,” Owen said.
The phrase was almost identical to Harrison’s from the night before.
Something cold moved through Alexander.
“Where were you yesterday afternoon?”
“I don’t appreciate the implication.”
“I didn’t make one.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Then answer.”
“I was at the office until approximately six. Then dinner with my wife.”
“Which office?”
“Foundation.”
“Did you come to my house?”
“No.”
“Did you call me from an unknown number?”
May you like
“No.”
“Did you kill Claire?”
