"Exact words?"
"Help… need help. My wife, she's not moving." Will's voice cracked anew, splintered by the weight of that moment. “She fell. I told them she had fallen. I’m pretty sure. I don’t remember it exactly. It’s all a blur.”
"That’s understandable. What did they say the response time was?"
"It would be fast, they said. That’s all, I believe. But it didn’t feel fast at all; each tick of the clock—was like a hammer on my skull."
"And you stayed with her?"
"Every second until sirens cut through the silence." He inhaled sharply as if the wail of the ambulance was right there in the room with us. “The pulse disappeared, and I did CPR until they got there. They took over, and she came back to life. Shewas still alive when they left with her. But she… she never made it to the hospital. Died in the ambulance. I never… never got to say goodbye. I should have gone with her in the ambulance, but then what about the children? I had to stay behind with them and bring them with me. But yes, I did everything I could until the very end.”
"Good." I nodded, filing away each word, each inflection. "That's good, Will."
His hands trembled like a sparrow caught in a storm.
"Hey," I whispered, the word a lifeline thrown across the chasm of his despair. “You’re doing good. I know this isn’t easy.”
Will's eyes captured mine, twin pools of pain.
"We had plans, Eva Rae." The dam broke; words were now spilling out with his tears. "A vacation to Barcelona, we were going to take dance lessons… salsa, for the wedding anniversary. We had ten years coming up."
"Sounds beautiful," I murmured.
"Angela…" His voice was shredded, raw, and bleeding. "She was… everything. She was all I had. Her laughter was the best, her laughter—it filled rooms." His chest heaved, a silent sob fighting its way free. "Now, there's just silence. I try to remember what her laughter sounded like, but it’s getting harder and harder."
"Keep going." I prodded, not unkindly.
"Her dreams, they were big. So damn big." Salty trails carved paths down his cheeks. "Our future—it was stolen."
"Stolen," I echoed, a vow etched within the single word.
I blinked hard, the sheen of tears threatening to spill over. "Will," I started, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside, "I'm on your side. I believe you’re telling the truth. But I needed to see for myself and look into your eyes to be certain."
He met my gaze, his own eyes red-rimmed and haunted.
"Every clue, every witness," I continued, "I'll chase them down. No rock left unturned."
"Thank you," he managed, his voice a hoarse whisper.
"Talk to me about Angela," I said, shifting gears. "Help me know her—the real her, not just what's on paper."
For a moment, there was only the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead, then Will's face softened, a faint smile blossoming through the grief as he remembered.
"Angela had this… energy." The word tumbled out, tinged with warmth. "She'd walk into a room, and it was like suddenly everything was brighter, more alive."
"Sounds like she was remarkable," I noted, my mind painting a picture of a woman full of life and light, now reduced to cold case files and whispers behind closed doors.
"More than you know," Will sighed, and he launched into a story about Angela, one Halloween when she dressed up as a superhero to surprise their son. His laughter, rare and precious, echoed against the concrete walls, a brief respite from the despair.
"Her spirit," he said, wiping away fresh tears, "it's what we need to remember."
"Her spirit will guide us," I assured him, feeling the truth of it deep in my bones. Angela wasn't just a victim; she was the heartbeat of this investigation.
“Have the police mentioned anything about what they have on you? What new evidence has come up?” I asked.
“Nope. Not a word.”
“Do you suspect foul play in your wife’s death? Would anyone have reason to want her dead?” I asked.
