“Was he maybe just trying to help her?” I asked cautiously.
Doyle walked past me, tapping me mockingly on the shoulder. “He slept with her, I’m telling you, Wilde. If you can’t spot him lying, then we need you to go through some more training in interrogation technique. Don’t let him ride you and wrap you around his finger. I thought you were better than that, seriously.”
I sighed and looked down at the ground, feeling my cheeks flush. I hadn’t expected this kind of reaction from Doyle.
I walked to my desk and looked at Tom next to me.
“I think the Chief is right,” he said. “But we’ll know more when the DNA results come in.”
I sat down, looking at my notes. “He did definitely lie to us about how he got his injury. It was a completely different story from last time I asked him.”
I exhaled and decided to go through my notes again. I couldn’t help but feel like something was off about the whole situation. Very off. I was beginning to feel the weight of the case heavy on my shoulders. I needed to find out the truth, no matter how difficult or uncomfortable it may be.
FORTY-FIVEBILLIE ANN
It was late before I went home. I was exhausted, and frustrated with this entire case, to put it mildly. Doyle was pushing for us to look deeper into Cassandra’s dad; he said as of now he saw him as our main suspect, but I wasn’t sure. People lied all the time. It didn’t mean they killed anyone. Let alone their own daughter. I needed to know why. I needed a motive to believe it.
I needed also to find Marissa. I feared she had gone after Emma by herself. I felt certain she knew where she was and just didn’t dare tell me for some reason. I couldn’t stop thinking about her in that shed, giving birth all alone and how scared she must have been. I was worried for both Marissa and Emma now. I feared they were both in great danger.
I opened the door to the house and stepped inside, feeling the strains of exhaustion that had become my constant companion since taking on the new job as the head of homicide. I shrugged off my belt with my badge and gun and hung it up in the hallway, locking the gun in the safe and pausing for a moment to take in my home: the deep blue walls, the gleaming hardwood floors, the living room filled with books and toys, and the faint smell of cinnamon and homecooked meals.
At least when someone did cook, that was. Lately we hadn’t really done much of that. It was too hard for both me and Joe. To pretend. It made me not want to go home. That and the anger I was still processing over him telling my mother the truth.
Making my way through the house, I spotted Joe in the garage, hunched over his old motorcycle, engrossed in whatever project he had going. That thing had never worked, but he loved to try to make it, especially when he had a lot on his mind. I put a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to face me with a start.
I smiled, even if it was forced. He returned my smile and eased up.
“Welcome home,” he said, and I could tell from the look on his face that he hadn’t even thought of dinner. Neither had I. Maybe we could just order something. DoorDash was our savior these days.
“How are the kids?” I asked, my voice almost a whisper as I glanced up the stairs.
“They’re fine, I think,” he said with a nod. “Charlene’s on her phone in the living room, Zach is playing video games, and I haven’t seen William these past few hours, as he has been in his room.”
“Okay,” I nodded. “How does Mexican for dinner sound?”
“Good. Good.”
An awkward silence filled the room, and I decided to leave him alone. I walked to the kitchen and pulled out my phone, then opened the DoorDash app and ordered a bunch of tacos and burritos. The food came a little later and we all ate together, even if we might as well have been eating apart, as no one engaged in any form of conversation at all. I tried to ask them how school was today but received nothing but a shrug and “it was okay” from the boys.
That was it. At least I tried.
My guess was they sensed the tension between me and Joe, even if we tried hard not to show it, or to let them know. Kids knew. Kids always knew.
As I cleaned up after dinner, a tear escaped my eye. I wiped it away fast, but I couldn’t help myself. I felt awful. I loved my family. What was I doing to them?
I’m making myself happy. I’m not doing anything to them. I deserve to be happy.
I knew it was the right thing to do, to follow my heart, but was it worth it?
“I’m going to bed,” I told Joe when I was done. He was back in the garage fumbling with his bike project, and just grumbled something back that I couldn’t hear. I went to the guest bedroom and closed the door, then crept under the covers and closed my eyes.
Sleep came and knocked me out fast.
FORTY-SIX
Then
Eight months had dragged on since Kitty was taken, and she was slowly beginning to lose hope of ever leaving this place again. She had been living in this small shed that got scorching hot during the day, with nothing but a thin mattress on an old metal frame bed, and a tattered blanket to keep her company. And of course, the pink teddy bear. But not a single scrap of sunlight had made its way in, and she spent her days in the light of one small bulb hanging from the ceiling, trying her best to sleep off the tedium. The only sound keeping her company was the low humming of the small AC unit in the wall. It was very old and didn’t run very well, but at least provided some relief to her.
Her days were so incredibly boring, and the same thoughts ran circles in her head. But today, she sensed something was different. She heard voices coming from the other side of her walls, and a steady rhythm of footsteps growing louder as they got closer.
What’s going on?
Heart throbbing, she sat up on her bed and stared at the door as she heard the bolt being pushed aside.
Was this good news? Or was she in danger?
When the door opened, surprise flooded through Kitty’s body. There stood Damian, holding a silver tray in his hands. Curiously, it carried a plate with a homecooked meal—rice, beans, and stewed chicken—instead of the usual bag of burgers and fries. Behind him was his wife. She was smiling and nodding happily, and it frightened Kitty, because she always looked so angry and serious, or sad. Never happy. Never smiling. Never.
“You must be hungry,” he said, setting the tray down on the bed. He looked at her with a strange kind of sympathy and untied her, while saying, “We brought you something special.”
Kitty felt a wave of emotions—relief, confusion, and something else she couldn’t quite explain. But she didn’t want to say anything, so instead she started to eat. She looked at the plate in front of her and a tear rolled down her face as she tasted the food. It was the first time in so long that someone had given her something out of compassion, and she knew it meant more than just the food.
Linda sat down on the bed and took her hand in hers. “Sweetie, we came here to talk to you about something.”
She glanced up at her husband, then back at Kitty.
Kitty had her mouth full of chicken and wanted to cry in happiness. This tasted so good, and she realized that it had been so long that she had completely forgotten how good a homecooked meal was.
