Chapter 5 · The Wife Who Waited

With that, I walked out of the room.

At the end of the hallway, a man in plain clothes was leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. When he saw me come out, he looked up. "Ms. Foster?"

"And you are?" I asked.

"I'm James Parker from the police station," he said, flashing his badge. "I'd like to talk to you about the Olivia Hayes case."

I looked at him. "Okay."

"Do you know where your husband, Michael Grant, was that night?"

"He didn't get home until eleven that night. He smelled like alcohol when he came in."

"What time did he get home?"

"Around eleven."

"And after he got home?"

"He said he wasn't feeling well and went into the study. At eleven forty, I went in and found him passed out on the floor, with sleeping pills and a bottle of liquor right next to him."

James jotted down a few notes. "Are you sure he got home at eleven that night?"

I looked at him. "Yeah."

"Alright," James said, closing his notebook. "Thanks for your help." He turned to leave.

"Mr. Parker," I called out.

He turned back.

"Will you get to the bottom of Olivia's case?" I asked.

He glanced at her. "Yeah."

I nodded.

As I walked out of the hospital, the sun was blazing. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to William: [Did you check Olivia's insurance?]

Two minutes later, William replied: [I checked. She had an accident policy for 1 million dollars. The beneficiary was Michael.]

I stood in the sunlight, staring at the message.

I thought, 'The beneficiary of 1 million dollars was Michael. Olivia, were you clueless, or were you taking a gamble?'

My phone buzzed again. It was a friend request from James.

I accepted it.

He messaged me right away: [Ms. Foster, if you're free, would you mind coming by the station tomorrow morning to give a statement?]

I texted back: [Sure.]

Then I sent another message: [Mr. Parker, can I hear Olivia's last voice message?]

After a long pause, he replied with one word: [Okay.]

I put my phone away and took a cab home. Tonight, I needed to sort through everything from the last six years, from beginning to end.

James' office was on the fourth floor of the police station.

At the end of the hallway, in the office, James sat across from me. On the desk was a voice recorder and a cup of coffee.

"Ms. Foster, the statement is done," he said, closing his notebook. "There's one more thing."

He pulled a phone out of the drawer. It was Olivia's. It had a pink case with a crack in the lower right corner. "You said you wanted to hear her last voice message," James said.

I nodded.

He tapped the screen, scrolled through a few times, and set it down in front of me.

It was a voice message sent to Brian at 12:43 AM.

He hit play.

Olivia's voice came through the phone, soft and urgent. "Brian, he's here. He's downstairs. I saw his car. He's not himself today. Earlier, he said he wanted to break up. I didn't agree, and he lost it. I'm scared he'll come up. I'm scared—"

The voice message cut off. It lasted nineteen seconds.

I stared at the timestamp. It was 12:43 AM.

According to the police report, Olivia fell from the building around 1:10 AM. Twenty-seven minutes separated the two events.

"Mr. Parker," I said.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Do you have the entry logs for Olivia's floor?"

He glanced at me, but didn't answer right away. "Ms. Foster, that's not something you should be asking about."

"I know. But I'm asking anyway."

He was quiet for a few seconds, and then said. "The elevator logs for the 22nd floor show that at 12:51 AM, someone swiped the keycard for apartment 2203."

"Whose card was it?"

"Olivia only had one card registered under her name," he said, pausing. "But the property manager said they actually issued two cards when they set it up."

"Who was the second one registered to?"

"Registered under Michael Grant's name."

I tapped my fingers lightly on my knee. "So, at 12:51 AM, someone used the keycard registered to Michael to get to the 22nd floor."

James didn't respond. He put Olivia's phone back in the drawer and looked at me. "Ms. Foster, your husband says he didn't go upstairs that night."

"I know what he said."

"What do you think?"

I stood up. "Mr. Parker, I'm not a judge. But there's one thing I know for sure."

"What's that?"

"Michael came home that night wearing a different pair of shoes."

He squinted a little. "What do you mean?"

"He went out in brown leather shoes, but when he got home, he was wearing black sneakers."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah. Olivia gave him those sneakers." I kept an eye on James's face.

He scribbled something down. "So, where did those shoes end up?"

"I tore the place apart the next day, but they were gone."

"So what you're saying is..."

"He got rid of them."

James stood up and walked over to the window, turning his back to me. There was a long silence before he said. "Ms. Foster."

"Yes?"

"If what you're saying is true, this case could change everything."

"I know."

"Are you sure about this?"

"I've had six years to think it over."

He turned around and looked at me. "Do you hate him?"

"No. Hate takes too much out of me. I want to see this through to the end."

Chapter 5

With that, I walked out of the room.

At the end of the hallway, a man in plain clothes was leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone. When he saw me come out, he looked up. "Ms. Foster?"

"And you are?" I asked.

"I'm James Parker from the police station," he said, flashing his badge. "I'd like to talk to you about the Olivia Hayes case."

I looked at him. "Okay."

"Do you know where your husband, Michael Grant, was that night?"

"He didn't get home until eleven that night. He smelled like alcohol when he came in."

"What time did he get home?"

"Around eleven."

"And after he got home?"

"He said he wasn't feeling well and went into the study. At eleven forty, I went in and found him passed out on the floor, with sleeping pills and a bottle of liquor right next to him."

James jotted down a few notes. "Are you sure he got home at eleven that night?"

I looked at him. "Yeah."

"Alright," James said, closing his notebook. "Thanks for your help." He turned to leave.

"Mr. Parker," I called out.

He turned back.

"Will you get to the bottom of Olivia's case?" I asked.

He glanced at her. "Yeah."

I nodded.

As I walked out of the hospital, the sun was blazing. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to William: [Did you check Olivia's insurance?]

Two minutes later, William replied: [I checked. She had an accident policy for 1 million dollars. The beneficiary was Michael.]

I stood in the sunlight, staring at the message.

I thought, 'The beneficiary of 1 million dollars was Michael. Olivia, were you clueless, or were you taking a gamble?'

My phone buzzed again. It was a friend request from James.

I accepted it.

He messaged me right away: [Ms. Foster, if you're free, would you mind coming by the station tomorrow morning to give a statement?]

I texted back: [Sure.]

Then I sent another message: [Mr. Parker, can I hear Olivia's last voice message?]

After a long pause, he replied with one word: [Okay.]

I put my phone away and took a cab home. Tonight, I needed to sort through everything from the last six years, from beginning to end.

James' office was on the fourth floor of the police station.

At the end of the hallway, in the office, James sat across from me. On the desk was a voice recorder and a cup of coffee.

"Ms. Foster, the statement is done," he said, closing his notebook. "There's one more thing."

He pulled a phone out of the drawer. It was Olivia's. It had a pink case with a crack in the lower right corner. "You said you wanted to hear her last voice message," James said.

I nodded.

He tapped the screen, scrolled through a few times, and set it down in front of me.

It was a voice message sent to Brian at 12:43 AM.

He hit play.

The voice message cut off. It lasted nineteen seconds.

I stared at the timestamp. It was 12:43 AM.

According to the police report, Olivia fell from the building around 1:10 AM. Twenty-seven minutes separated the two events.

"Mr. Parker," I said.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Do you have the entry logs for Olivia's floor?"

He glanced at me, but didn't answer right away. "Ms. Foster, that's not something you should be asking about."

"I know. But I'm asking anyway."

He was quiet for a few seconds, and then said. "The elevator logs for the 22nd floor show that at 12:51 AM, someone swiped the keycard for apartment 2203."

"Whose card was it?"

"Olivia only had one card registered under her name," he said, pausing. "But the property manager said they actually issued two cards when they set it up."

"Who was the second one registered to?"

"Registered under Michael Grant's name."

I tapped my fingers lightly on my knee. "So, at 12:51 AM, someone used the keycard registered to Michael to get to the 22nd floor."

James didn't respond. He put Olivia's phone back in the drawer and looked at me. "Ms. Foster, your husband says he didn't go upstairs that night."

"I know what he said."

"What do you think?"

I stood up. "Mr. Parker, I'm not a judge. But there's one thing I know for sure."

"What's that?"

"Michael came home that night wearing a different pair of shoes."

He squinted a little. "What do you mean?"

"He went out in brown leather shoes, but when he got home, he was wearing black sneakers."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah. Olivia gave him those sneakers." I kept an eye on James's face.

He scribbled something down. "So, where did those shoes end up?"

"I tore the place apart the next day, but they were gone."

"So what you're saying is..."

"He got rid of them."

James stood up and walked over to the window, turning his back to me. There was a long silence before he said. "Ms. Foster."

"Yes?"

"If what you're saying is true, this case could change everything."

"I know."

"Are you sure about this?"

"I've had six years to think it over."

He turned around and looked at me. "Do you hate him?"

"No. Hate takes too much out of me. I want to see this through to the end."