Chapter 8
He sat down, ordered a bottle of liquor, and knocked back a glass before finally looking at me.
"Alright, Rebecca, cut to the chase," Tyler said. "I know you didn't drag me out here just for dinner."
I didn't waste any time and asked him directly.
"Tyler, how many times have you met Duncan's wife, Elsa?" I asked.
Tyler's hand froze in mid-air, his glass suspended.
"Yeah, I was there for their wedding. Didn't see her much after that. Duncan kept her pretty much out of the social scene while he was in the army. What's up?" he replied.
"Are you sure she really died three years ago?" I pressed.
Tyler's glass hovered at his lips. He stared at me for a few seconds before slowly setting it down.
"Rebecca, what are you getting at?" he asked.
"I'm not trying to stir anything up. I just want to be sure. Did you actually see Elsa's body back then?" I asked.
Tyler tapped his fingers on the table, absently, like he always did when he was thinking.
"I didn't go. Jacob said he'd handle it himself. He didn't want any of us to see that kind of scene," he replied.
"Then how do you know she's really dead?" I pressed.
"Jacob told us. He brought out the death certificate and showed it to us. Rebecca, what are you really getting at?" Tyler replied.
I pulled the photo out of my bag and slid it across the table to Tyler, face up.
Tyler glanced down at the photo, and his face instantly drained of color.
"When was this taken?" Tyler asked.
"Two months ago. Harborvale. She's living alone in a riverside apartment, and honestly, she's doing pretty well," I replied.
Tyler stared at the woman in the photo, a strangled sound escaping his throat, like he was choking on his own shock.
"No way," he said.
"What's so impossible about it? Look closely. Tell me, is that her or not?" I pressed.
Tyler picked up the photo, brought it close, and stared at it for a good half minute before setting it down hard on the table.
"She looks just like her. Too much like her. But what if it's just someone who happens to look like her?" he said.
"Do you really think someone who just happens to look like her would be living in a riverside apartment with regular money coming in every month?" I pressed.
Tyler's fingers stopped tapping, and he just sat there, completely frozen.
I took the photo back and slipped it into my bag.
I said, "Tyler, I'm not here to ask you for anything. I just want to ask you one question.
"If Elsa didn't die, then whose child is Xavier, really?"
"Duncan's. Of course it's Duncan's," Tyler blurted out, but then he paused, his voice faltering. "Probably Duncan's."
"Are you sure?" I pressed.
Tyler took a big gulp of his drink and said nothing.
The silence stretched on. The pot broth started bubbling, the gurgling sound filling the private room.
"Rebecca, how much have you found out?" Tyler finally asked.
"Enough," I replied.
"So what are you going to do now?" Tyler pressed.
I stood up and grabbed my bag.
"Are you coming to Xavier's tenth birthday party?" I asked.
Tyler looked up at me, a conflicted look on his face.
"Jacob asked me to come. It'd be rude not to show up," he said.
"Then you should come," I said.
I took a couple of steps toward the door, then stopped, not bothering to look back.
"Tyler, what if Duncan's death wasn't what you thought it was?" I said.
The words were left hanging in the room, like a stone tossed into the bubbling pot.
I didn't wait for his answer. I pushed the door open and walked out.
Once I was in the car, I dialed another number.
"Lynn, how are the legal documents coming along?" I asked.
"Ms. Tate, the evidence chain for the child abuse part is complete now. But for the other lead you mentioned, about the possibly fake death certificate, I still need more proof," Lynn replied.
"I'll get it to you. And add another request for me," I said.
"Go ahead," Lynn replied.
I said, "In the divorce case, I want you to track down any money my husband moved around while we were married.
"For the past three years, every month, he sent money from his account to some woman nobody knows. That money belongs to both of us.
"I want every cent back."
After hanging up, I glanced at the calendar.
There were still eleven days until the birthday party.
When I got home, I walked in to a scene I never expected.
Xavier was sitting at the piano, playing a simple tune. Lucy was sitting nearby, completely absorbed, muttering over and over, "This kid's got real talent."
Jacob was standing by the piano, holding his phone, recording the whole thing.
He had that look of pride on his face, the kind I knew all too well.
It was the kind of pride I'd never seen on his face when Zoe first called him "Dad," or even on her birthday.
But right now, he was wearing it out in the open, not even trying to hide it.