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“Um…” Alone now, Henry’s expression turns sheepish. “Have you come with news, Detectives?”
“We have.” Taking a step forward, Fletch discreetly places his foot over the threshold, just in case anyone wants to slam the door in our faces and run. Even at their age, sometimes folks can be spry and unwilling to go to prison. “Can we come in and talk, Henry? We think we have some new answers.”
“O-of course.” He wrings his hands and looks down at his feet. He’s not as strong as the last time we were here. Not as confident in his place as the head of his home. “We can speak in my office again.”
“Henry, I—” Stepping into the foyer, Hillary stops and studies us. “Oh, we have guests.”
“We’ve come to discuss Holly,” I tell her. “It might be best if you come in, too. The things we have to say affect everyone.”
“Oh gosh, it’s bad.” The woman’s hands shake as she takes a step forward. She glances back toward the kitchen, to the little girl who searches for a juicebox and chatters with her dog, but when I place my hand on the back of her elbow, she walks. She leads me toward Henry’s office and nervously wipes her hands on her apron as we go.
Henry wears black slacks today, while Hillary is in a tracksuit of lavender and tan. They both wear sneakers.
Maybe they were heading into the garden before our visit.
While Henry makes his way to the chair behind his desk and Hilary follows to stand beside him, Fletch and I take a seat on the opposite side.
We don’t carry case notes today. We didn’t bother bringing evidence bags or anything else to prove our case. We simply have us.
And a pair of cuffs.
“What is it?” Henry’s voice turns gruff; some could confuse the short tone for anger, but I think the man is verging on emotional. “Detective Malone?” He studies my eyes. “Detective Fletcher? What did you discover after bringing Holly’s body up last night?”
“It’s bad,” Hillary whimpers. Already, her eyes dance with unshed tears. “Whatever it is, it’s bad.”
Clearing his throat, Fletch sits forward in his chair. “Henry, we regret to inform you that Holly was approximately twenty-five weeks pregnant when she died.”
“What?”
“No!” Exploding with grief, Hillary sobs into her hand. “Absolutely not.”
“You didn’t know?” Fletch studies Henry closely, just as I do. We watch his eyes. His expressions. His mannerisms and responses. “Twenty-five weeks is a significant gestation. You didn’t know your wife was expecting a child?”
“A baby?” he chokes out. “She was… she was expecting a baby?” Fat tears roll onto his cheeks. “Mybaby?”
“No.” Draping herself on the arm of his chair, Hillary hugs her husband close and presses a sobbing kiss to his temple. “It’s impossible.”
“It is possible,” I tell her. “It’s fact. The medical examiner’s office collected Holly’s remains last night, plus the remains of an unborn child.”
“It was a girl,” Fletch adds, purely to push home what’s been lost. “A little girl who might’ve survived outside the womb if she’d been given the chance.”
“I don’t…” Crying, Henry’s movements are jerky as he reaches into his desk drawer.
When he takes out a handkerchief and brings it to his face to mop up the mess torrenting from his eyes, I take a moment and give my heart a chance to slow. To relax and accept he wasn’t reaching for a weapon.
“I can’t…” Devastated, he looks to Hillary. “A baby girl?” Then he looks to us. “She can’t have known,” he decides. “Holly. She would never have done what she did if she knew there was a baby.”
“Mr. Wade?” Setting his elbows on his knees, Fletch studies the pair on the other side of the desk. “The medical examiners have discovered more information about Holly’s death. More than we knew.”
“What information?” he rasps. Wiping the handkerchief over his lips, his eyes flicker from Fletch to me. “What did they find?”
“The original reports never mentioned exact cause of death,” I fill in. “They stated suicide, but not what ended her life.”
“The truck,” Hillary whimpers. “The truck is what killed her.”
“Okay, but what was the moment her lifeended?” Fletch counters. “That’s what we sought. For all we knew, she might’ve had a heart attack while driving andthat’swhat did this.”
“So she…” Confused, Henry shakes his head. “Heart attack?”
