Chapter 43 - The Husband I Buried

Now

‘I need you to do me a favor,’ I said, turning to Keith once we returned to the car.

He glanced at me from the driver’s seat. ‘Yeah?’

I took that as an invitation to tell him what I wanted. ‘I need you to drive past a house. I just want to see something.’

He didn’t ask why. Just nodded and took the next turn when I told him to.

Rebecca’s street was quiet in the way affluent streets often were on a Sunday morning, with expensive cars tucked neatly into driveways.

‘That one,’ I said, when it came into view. ‘Slow down.’

Keith eased off the accelerator.

The Queen Anne sat proudly on the street, void of all the activity from my last visit.

The shutters were drawn, the lawn aggressively well kept.

‘My client’s house,’ I said.

‘Right. So, Luis’s blood was found in there? Where did they say the fire started?’ Keith asked.

‘Back bedroom,’ I said. ‘Second floor.’

He craned his neck slightly, eyes scanning the façade. ‘Hard to tell anything from here.’

‘I’m not looking for the fire,’ I said.

He shot me a sideways look. ‘Then what?’

I didn’t answer.

As we rolled past the front steps, I saw it. ‘Pull over,’ I said, barely waiting for the car to stop.

‘Mackenzie, what are you—’

Keith’s voice vanished behind me as I sucked in a breath and stopped in my tracks.

The knocker was bronze. Antique-looking, maybe original to the house or chosen to look that way. At first glance it could have been decorative, even tasteful. But it wasn’t the usual wreath design. And it wasn’t abstract.

It was a serpent. Its body curved into a perfect half circle, where it met the tail of another serpent. The scales were etched in delicate detail. The heads turned inward, jaws closing gently around each other’s tails.

A double ouroboros.

My chest tightened.

I pulled the symbol I’d found at the grave and the invitation card from my pocket for comparison. The scales followed the same smooth pattern. Almost the same, but different.

I went back to the car. ‘Keith,’ I said quietly. ‘Those things on the door, the snakes.’

He squinted his eyes, trying to make it out. ‘Yeah?’

‘They poured the accelerant in a circle,’ I said. ‘Around Brad. I think they were trying to contain the fire.’

Keith went still.

‘Luis’s blood was somewhere in that room,’ I continued. ‘On a surface that didn’t ignite.’

I sat back slowly.

‘He was here,’ I said. ‘Before the fire. Or after.’

Keith exhaled through his nose, looking at the door knocker through the windscreen. ‘That’s not décor.’

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘It’s a marker.’

‘For what?’

I read the signature line on the invitation.

Alignment. Renewal. Becoming.

‘I think it’s a boundary,’ I said. ‘A signal.’

Keith put the car back in gear.

‘The murder, it was ritualistic,’ I said. I watched the door recede in the side mirror, the double ouroboros shrinking into the distance. I swallowed. Whatever it was, it had been closing its circle for a long time. The world spun dizzyingly around me.

There was one more place I needed to go before we went to the Institute.

*

I called the Boston Correctional Facility and told them who I was, my voice sharper than I intended. ‘I need to book a consult with my client. She’s at risk of self-harm, and there’s a transfer motion under review.’

The officer hesitated, then finally said, ‘If you can get here by ten thirty, I’ll put you on the list.’

Perfect. An hour and a half. That gave me some time. I thanked him and hung up before he could change his mind. I knew the mental health angle would make them listen. If Rebecca hurt herself, questions would be asked. Especially if my request was denied.

It wasn’t even a lie. I’d filed a request for a mental health assessment after my last visit. I wasn’t sure Rebecca would hold up well in prison if I couldn’t organize a way out, and I’d slightly exaggerated how soon I thought I could get her released with the charges she was facing.

Keith turned to me. ‘I guess I’m driving?’

‘I guess so,’ I agreed.

*

She’d been moved from county. Good. That was an even shorter drive.

The correctional facility loomed over us, a giant, depressing concrete slab, all narrow windows and shadows pressing in. The kind of place where hope came to die.

A guard scanned my pass and nodded me through.

‘No devices past the second gate,’ he said without looking up.

My heels clicked down the sterile corridor, echoing too loud in the still air. Gate after gate buzzed open, each one heavier than the last.

Rebecca was already seated when I entered the interview room. She didn’t look like she’d slept. Her face was stripped of makeup, and dark circles shadowed her pretty eyes, which were less honey today and more green. Bordering on hazel.

She smiled when she saw me. ‘You’re back,’ she said, as if she knew I would be.

I dropped my bag onto the table and sat opposite her. ‘Let’s not waste time.’

Her smile didn’t falter.

‘They found blood in your house,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t Brad’s. And it wasn’t yours.’

Rebecca’s eyes flickered.

‘I assumed you’d find out,’ she said calmly.

My pulse ticked faster. ‘Whose blood was it, Rebecca?’

She tilted her head. ‘You already know.’

‘I’d like you to confirm it.’

That did it. Her breath changed. Not a gasp. Just a slow, deliberate inhalation.

‘Luis Tyndale,’ I supplied. ‘You know my husband? Where is he? Why was his blood in your house?’

Silence stretched between us.

Then Rebecca smiled again, softer this time. Almost fond.

‘You’re asking the wrong question,’ she said.

I leaned forward. ‘Then help me ask the right one.’

‘Why wouldn’t Luis be there?’

A thin chill crept up my spine. It was an odd thing to say.

‘Because he was declared dead,’ I said carefully. ‘Because he supposedly died in a car accident four months ago.’

Rebecca smiled faintly, like I’d missed something obvious.

‘Supposedly,’ she echoed. She leaned back in her chair, studying me as though I were the one under observation.

‘Was he hurt?’ I asked. ‘Is that where the blood came from?’

Her gaze held mine, and I wondered if she was enjoying this.

I leaned forward. ‘You know, given that I’m your lawyer, this complicates things.’

Her brow lifted, just a fraction. Like she was interested in how this might play out.

‘If Luis Tyndale is alive,’ I continued, ‘and if he was present in your house, injured or otherwise, then my ability to represent you is compromised.’

‘Why is that?’ she asked.

‘Because it’s a conflict of interest,’ I said. ‘I can’t ethically defend you if my husband might be connected to the crime.’

She considered that, tapping one fingernail lightly against the table.

‘So, you’re saying you’d drop me,’ she said.

‘I’m saying I might be required to,’ I replied. ‘And if I don’t, anything we do from here on out is vulnerable. Motions, testimony, strategy – everything.’

‘You’re worried you won’t be able to separate the two,’ she said.

‘I’m concerned,’ I said evenly, ‘that you’re withholding information that directly affects your case.’

Rebecca leaned forward now, mirroring me. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she glanced toward the door, at the guard, who couldn’t be less interested in what we were talking about.

‘You should think very carefully about what you want me to say,’ she said. ‘Because once I answer that question, you won’t be able to un-know it.’

‘That’s not your decision,’ I said.

Rebecca smiled, calm as ever. ‘Isn’t it?’

I stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. ‘If you’ve done something to him—’

‘I haven’t,’ she interrupted gently. She rose, smoothing her clothes as though this were a business appointment concluding on schedule. ‘You should go,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re already running late.’

‘For what?’ I demanded.

Her smile curved, serene. ‘For your meeting.’

‘Is he alive?’ I asked, my voice strangled.

Rebecca’s eyes shone with something like amusement.

‘Does it matter?’ she said. ‘You’re going anyway.’

The guard shifted in the corner.

Time.

‘What makes you so sure?’ I asked.

‘You’d follow him anywhere. Until you knew for sure he was dead,’ she said.