“Her husband was found a few feet away from her in the other room. Why wouldn’t the killer finish what he started?”
“Like we said before. Maybe he got spooked and ran out of the house.”
“Then why didn’t he try to kill her again the second time?” I arch my brow. “She was right upstairs, passed out from that pill. He could have done it within seconds.”
“I don’t know,” Elijah sighs. “This case is a shitshow of nothing.”
35
KAT
My phone ringsas I step through the front door. Pulling it from my purse, it’s my realtor.
“Hello,” I answer with agitation.
“Good news, Katherine. The house is officially listed, and I already have someone who wants to look at it.”
“Did you tell them a murder took place here?”
“Well, of course not. We don’t have to disclose that information in New York. But if the potential buyers ask, I’m obligated to tell the truth. What they don’t know won’t hurt them, right?”
I make a mental note: Ask the realtor if anyone was murdered in the home before I buy.
“When do they want to see it?” I asked.
“Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”
“Fine. I’ll make sure I’m out of the house.”
“Excellent. I’ll be in touch.”
Her happy, chipper voice irritates me, and I’m happy our conversation is over. With the house officially listed, I know I must begin my search for a new place to live. The apartment directly below Samantha's was snatched up within hours ofbeing listed, leaving me with no chance to call the landlord in time.
I pour some red wine into a crystal glass, the liquid sloshing as I carry it to the couch. With trembling hands, I lower myself onto the soft cushions and take a long sip, trying to calm my racing thoughts. Detective Walker's words echo in my mind, each one like a knife twisting in my gut. A cold chill runs down my spine as I contemplate this revelation about my parents' true identities. I don’t believe her. She said such horrible things, trying to get a confession out of me—to confess to something I didn’t do. But if she were telling the truth, I would need answers, and I wouldn’t stop until I got them. I pick up my phone and call her.
“Detective Walker.”
“It’s Katherine Tate. You said my real mother murdered my father. If she did, then she’s in prison somewhere. I need to know which one so I can talk to her.”
“I’m sorry, Katherine, but your mother passed away ten years ago. She hung herself in her cell.”
I gasp and place my hand over my mouth.
“Katherine, are you still there?”
“Yes,” I speak softly. “Thank you, Detective Walker.” I end the call and pull up flights to Richmond, Virginia. Even though Detective Walker told me not to leave town, I am. My entire life has been a lie, and I need answers.
Before I headto the police station, I stop at the library and search for all the murders that took place in the area twenty-five years ago. I stumble upon an article that makes my stomach churn.
Wife Stabs Husband to Death in Front of Five-Year-Old Daughter in Chester
Renee Fields, age thirty, stabbed her husband twenty-two times after discovering the affair he had been having for twenty-two months. According to the police, the brutal crime was discovered after Mrs. Fields called 911, confessing to killing her husband. When the police arrived at the home, they found Katherine Fields, age five, and the daughter of Renee Fields, crouching in the corner of the living room with splatters of blood on her face and bloody handprints on the arms of her shirt. Detective Song states it was one of the worst crime scenes he’d ever seen.
I cup my mouth as terror rushes through me. I pull my phone from my pocket, call the Chester Police Department, and ask if Detective Song still works there. To my surprise, the officer on the phone tells me yes.
With shaking hands, I climb into my rental car and punch the police station’s address into the GPS. I ask for Detective Song when I arrive, and the kind female officer leads me to him.
“How can I help you?” He stares at me.
