“You know it.”
Once her seat belt is dutifully clicked into place, Lindsey sets her thermos in the cupholder and turns ice-blue lasers on her best friend. “Spill. What the hell is going on?”
Olivia explains as succinctly as possible. Just the facts, ma’am. Be dispassionate.
“Park is at the house with the detectives who are working on Beverley Cooke’s murder. There’s a DNA match to a suspect, and they’ve traced it through some database to Park.”
The gasp is satisfactory. “Park? That’s impossible.”
“Not Park.” Olivia doesn’t take her eyes off the road. “Apparently he has a child. A son.”
She risks a glance. Lindsey is staring out the window, shoulders tense.
“Did you know?”
“Know?”
The tone… “Lindsey. Tell me.”
“No. Of course not. It’s nothing. Really. I was just thinking about Chapel Hill. You know, everything that happened with Park while y’all were broken up. Hey, you just drove past Fido’s.”
“Dang it.”
Chapel Hill. She hasn’t thought about that for years. Not really. A chapter of Park’s life she wasn’t directly involved in until after the fact, but a chapter closed, nonetheless.
Of course. That’s how the police put him together with Beverly’s killer. His DNA was in the system.
She takes the next left, circles the block, then enters the parking lot. She makes no move to get out of the car, and Lindsey, taking the hint, takes a pull on her mug and twists in her seat to face Olivia.
“There’s more. Talk.”
“I lost the baby this morning.”
Lindsey doesn’t touch her, knows even the gentlest caress would be unwelcome, but she closes her eyes briefly and blows out a heavy breath. “Shit. That sucks. I’m sorry.”
This is comforting to Olivia, who is so used to people falling all over themselves with obsequious platitudes when they find out about the fertility issues that sometimes, a simple declarative statement makes it all better. At least Lindsey isn’t going to follow up with “It will be okay. You can just adopt.” Or some other horrifying brush-off. Olivia had nearly punched the no-longer-a-friend who said it first, but was shocked to hear it echoed again and again—from friends to doctors to parents to strangers.
No one understands what it is like. No one can possibly understand unless they’ve been through it themselves. Olivia has been put on this earth to fulfill one essential biological duty—procreate—and she isn’t going to be able to do that, isn’t ever going to get past the first few months of the quickening, and it’s all her own damn fault.
Lindsey, though, has an inkling of what’s behind Olivia’s self-flagellation. They haven’t talked about it, not out loud, but Olivia knows Lindsey gets it without having to lay it out. Lindsey is the only one who knows. A mistake made in haste as a child has cost Olivia her entire future.
It’s all my fault.
Park has a child.
“Liv? You okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry. Drifted off there. Anyway. I need to get to work.”
Lindsey takes the hint. “I’m sure this is just some sort of lab screwup. Hang in there. If you want to talk later, call me.”
“When is Perry showing up?” She’s surprised by the bitter curiosity in her tone, but Lindsey doesn’t seem to notice.
“He’s going to send me his itinerary. I’m picking him up from the airport. Want to—”
“No.”
“You didn’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“If it involves Perry, the answer is always going to be no.”
6
THE HUSBAND
Park hears Olivia running water upstairs, hears the door click closed, hears the Jeep’s engine turn over. He is hurt that she’s running but doesn’t blame her. Not really.
Detective Osley raises a brow, and Park shrugs. “Let her go. She needs time to process. This must have been a terrible shock. What else can I answer for you?”
“Obviously, Mr. Bender, your time in Chapel Hill, the case of your dead girlfriend, it’s of interest to us.”
“That case is closed. I had nothing to do with Melanie’s death.”
“Oh, we know. But the similarities are uncanny. And your son—”
“Quit calling him my son. I don’t know this person. He is your suspect. And I don’t care for the insinuations you’re making. I know nothing about this, and I want to be kept out of it, do you understand? I won’t let you go ruining my life to chase down a dead-end lead.”
Both cops watch him, a thousand times more interested now. Stop reacting. You’re making yourself look guilty.
He blows out a breath. “I apologize. This is hard for me. Olivia…she doesn’t need any drama right now.”
“Fair enough. Is there anything you can tell us, anyone who might be able to help? There’s gotta be a mother.” Osley leans forward with a conspiratorial grin. “You know it only takes once. Could be a drunk hookup. Could be a short relationship. Could be you pushed someone into it, and she was scared afterward…”
“Except I don’t make drunk hookups. And I don’t force myself on women. I’m a married man, for Christ’s sake. I want to help. I really do. I just don’t—”
But he does. Oh, God. He does. He needs the cops out of here, now.
Moore catches his hesitation. “Mr. Bender?”
“It’s nothing. Truly, I’m sorry. Please let me know what happens. I’d like to…well, I’d like to know who he is, regardless of what he’s done. I’m so sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. Please, if you can avoid dragging my family into this, I’d appreciate it. Olivia is having a hard enough time without having this thrown in her face.”
“That’s not really up to us, Mr. Bender. Your wife does know about your history in Chapel Hill, doesn’t she?”
There’s the shot across the bow he’s been waiting for. Chummy it up, then strong-arm him into giving them something, anything. An oblique threat to ruin his life, all he’s gutted it out for, the toehold he’s gained in the community, into the lives of his students, his family, his secret readers. He’s done a damn good job of becoming as anonymous as possible. A few well-placed words and poof, everything reverts, and you are again the person from that horrific year, the object of scorn and derision, the one women cross the street to avoid walking past. People forget they enjoy having you over for dinner, instead want to gossip and scheme and point fingers.
“Of course she does. It was national news, for a time. That’s how Olivia and I found each other again. She knew I had nothing to do with Melanie’s death.”
“Want to run us through what happened there?”
“In Chapel Hill? Not particularly. That part of my life is over, and I prefer to keep it that way. You have all you need from the files, I’m sure.”
End this.
He stands. The detectives gather their things, drop cups in the sink, leave cards on the table.
“We’ll be in touch,” Moore says, eyes cold as the ocean. “And if you do remember anything, Mr. Bender, you give us a call, okay? A woman’s dead, and we need to find her killer. That’s all we care about.”