Chapter 14 - The Husband I Buried

Now

I awoke the next morning on Luis’s side of the bed. I closed my eyes, allowing myself a moment to think about him.

The memory came easily. It was after we’d been dating for a few months.

I’d come home and Luis had surprised me. The room was lit with candles, dozens of them, scattered across the dresser and the windowsill, their flames trembling softly like they were breathing. Luis had laughed when I told him it was excessive, said it was only for a night, that sometimes you needed to change the atmosphere to let something new in.

The scent of bergamot had lingered in the air, warm and clean, layered with something deeper I could never quite name. He’d moved slowly that night, deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world. Every touch unhurried. Every word chosen.

‘Relax,’ he murmured, brushing my hair back from my face. ‘Forget about your cases. Just be here with me tonight.’

I remembered how safe I’d felt. How held. As the rest of the world fell away and the only thing that mattered was the space we’d created together.

After, we lay tangled together, candlelight casting soft shadows across the walls. He’d traced lazy patterns on my arm, smiling to himself.

‘You carry so much,’ he’d said. ‘Through here.’ He traced the line of my jaw. ‘And in here.’ His hand moved down my neck, across the side of my ribs, and stopped over my heart. ‘You don’t have to carry it all with you. Let it go.’

I’d smiled then. Half asleep. Comforted by the idea that someone saw the weight and wanted to ease it.

‘I think I love you,’ I said, the words slipping out of my mouth before I was sure I wanted to say them.

It could have ruined the moment. It might have, but he’d kissed my forehead, slow and reverent.

‘I think I love you too.’

I smiled up at him, and we were kissing again.

The memory faded as reality set in.

I opened my eyes, the room empty now, cold in the morning light. The candles were gone. The scent long faded.

But the feeling lingered. Of Luis’s arms wrapped around me. His slow, steady breath on my neck as I slept in his arms.

For a moment longer than I should, I let myself believe he was still here.

Then I looked at the clock, thankful I didn’t seem to have a hangover from last night. I was usually up by now, finishing a bowl of granola and yoghurt.

Throwing back the covers, I pulled on my robe, gathered my clothes from the rack and raced through to the shower. I didn’t even wait for it to heat up, just jumped in cold to kickstart my day.

*

By the time I reached the station, I felt ready to take on anything.

The train was pulling in but I still needed to cut across to the other side if I was going to catch it.

I broke into a jog, my breath catching in the cool morning air, but I was too late.

Impatient commuters already had their elbows out, edging toward the carriages. Securing a spot for the ride with the ferocity of territorial lions.

Of course. The one morning I actually needed things to go smoothly.

I reached the platform, resigned to waiting for the next one. Ten minutes wasn’t the end of the world, but it felt like a lifetime today.

My phone buzzed with a message from Rebecca.

This early in the morning, it probably wasn’t good news.

My instinct was right.

The police want to search my house. They say they have a warrant.

I stopped walking.

People surged past me, already getting into position for the next train. I stepped out of the flow and typed back with deliberate care.

Are the police with you right now?

Her reply was instant and loaded with worry.

Yes. They’re outside.

I closed my eyes for a beat.

This might work better if I coaxed her through what to do.

I dialed her phone, and she answered immediately. ‘They’re at the door,’ she said.

‘OK. Listen to me carefully,’ I said in my most reassuring tone. ‘Do not consent to anything beyond what’s in the warrant. Do not answer questions. Do not explain. Do not help them.’

There was a pause. I tried to listen for background noise, anything to give me an idea of what was happening, but I couldn’t catch what they were saying.

‘They said it’ll be faster if I let them in. That the neighbors won’t even notice they’re here. They’ll be in and out. Do they always talk such shit?’

‘Pretty much. Whatever it takes to get your agreement.’

I moved quickly, already mapping the fastest route to her house.

‘Ask to see the warrant. Take a photo if you can. Stall them. I’m on my way.’

Another pause.

‘They’re asking for my phone,’ said Rebecca.

My fingers stilled.

‘Do not unlock it,’ I directed. ‘Hand it over if the warrant specifies the phone. Don’t give them your passcode.’

A few seconds went by. ‘They’re going inside,’ said Rebecca, relieved. ‘They said they’d collect the phone next.’

‘OK. Are you within earshot of the police?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Is there anything on your phone you don’t want them to see?’

‘Apart from everything?’ she said, sarcasm creeping into her tone.

‘You know what I mean,’ I said, talking quickly now in case they decided to come back sooner than expected. ‘Anything illegal, incriminating, or anything else to suggest you might’ve hurt your husband? Text messages to him, or to someone else?’

‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘But if there were I could easily delete them while they’re inside.’

‘No! Don’t delete anything. The first thing forensics will check if they get a hold of your phone is what you’re trying to hide. They’ll search your delete history.’

‘Good to know,’ she said, but there was a slight tremor in her voice that made me wonder if she hadn’t already done it.

*

When I arrived, two patrol cars and an unmarked SUV were parked out front, looking out of place in what would otherwise be a fairy tale. Rebecca stood on the footpath, arms folded tight across her chest, looking diminished against the octagonal bay windows of a beautiful Queen Anne-style home that was more of a mansion than a house.

An officer glanced at me as I approached, before I could even get to the regal-looking door knocker. ‘Excuse me—’

‘I’m Rebecca’s attorney,’ I said. ‘Mackenzie Morgan.’

That changed the temperature immediately.

I turned to Rebecca. ‘Did you consent to the search?’

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘I told them you were coming.’

‘Good.’

I held out my hand to the officer nearest me. ‘I’d like to see the warrant.’

He handed it over without argument.

I read it carefully. Address correct. Scope limited. Electronic devices, financial records, accelerants. No fishing expedition.

My guess was they were looking for potential accelerants to see if there were traces of the other products used in the concoction. They wanted to tie the two together.

‘OK,’ I said, handing it back. ‘So long as we’re clear on the boundaries, go right ahead.’

‘We’re just doing our job, executing the warrant,’ the officer replied.

‘Right,’ I said, mimicking his tone. ‘And I’m just doing my job making sure you stay within it.’

Rebecca’s voice shook. ‘Are they just allowed to go through my house? Isn’t that a breach of privacy or something?’

‘I know it can be . . . confronting, having someone go through your things, but they have a warrant,’ I explained calmly. ‘So they can legally conduct a search for the things listed.’

Her breath hitched.

‘Listen to me,’ I said quietly. ‘You do not answer questions. If they ask, you say you’re invoking your right to counsel. If they try to make conversation, you don’t engage. This isn’t rudeness. It’s protection.’

One of the officers shifted. ‘We just need some context for a few items.’

‘No, you don’t,’ I said evenly. ‘You need what’s in the warrant.’

The front door opened and closed behind us as officers moved in and out, cataloguing, photographing, lifting objects with gloved hands.

Rebecca watched every movement like she was afraid something might get stolen, or like they’d find something she didn’t want them to see.

A gloved officer placed a vase back with a heavy hand.

‘That vase cost as much as a small car,’ said Rebecca. ‘And he’s handling it like it’s a lump of wood.’

I nodded. I could understand her concern; I just didn’t want the police to hear that was what she was worried about while they were looking for her husband’s killer.

‘Just a few more minutes and they should be out of here,’ I promised.

‘They’re treating me like I’ve already done something,’ she whispered.

‘That’s how investigations feel,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t mean they’ll find proof of anything.’

An officer approached. ‘We need to take the phone now.’

I nodded to Rebecca. ‘Hand it over.’

She did, her fingers lingering on the device like it was the last solid thing she had.

‘Passcode?’ the officer asked.

‘No,’ I said, before Rebecca could answer. ‘The warrant doesn’t compel disclosure.’

He didn’t argue.

When it was over, the officers left as efficiently as they’d arrived with no apology for the disturbance.

I waited until the street was empty before speaking again.

‘Rebecca,’ I said, ‘from this point on, you don’t talk to anyone about this. Friends. Neighbors. No one. Not without me.’

She nodded, swallowing hard.

‘When will I get my phone back?’ she asked.

‘When they’re done with it,’ I said. ‘Sorry, but that’s the truth. It could take a week. Maybe more. They’ll hang on to it for as long as they can, in case there’s something they need.’

She hugged her arms to herself, like she was bracing against a cold wind she could already feel setting in.

‘We’re done reacting,’ I said. ‘From now on, we stay ahead of them.’

She nodded, only slightly reassured.

If I was going to do that, it meant locking down our approach and making sure they couldn’t tear it apart.