I grab my phone and open the calendar app.
On January 14, the day Brittney disappeared, I had a doctor’s appointment. It was scheduled for three o’clock, and since Alex was supposed to be done with work, I asked him to come. He said he would, but he didn’t show up. I can’t remember the reason he gave me.
I suck in a breath and reach for my purse. I pull out the ultrasound photos of the baby. I’ve been carrying them around with me, still trying to get used to the fact that I’m never going to meet my child.
I look through them until I find the one with the date I’m looking for. The memories start flooding back as if a dam has burst open inside my mind.
It was the first ultrasound photo of the baby, and I couldn’t wait to show it to Alex. To celebrate, I prepared a nice dinner for both of us, placing the photo in the middle of the table.
I remember clearly that he did not come home until well after nine. He looked exhausted. He didn’t even eat the dinner I had slaved over. Since I didn’t want to show him the ultrasound photo in a rush, I gave it to him the next morning. He didn’t look particularly excited. At the time I thought maybe it was because he was afraid to get too attached to the baby. There was always a chance we might lose the pregnancy.
Was he actually just distracted by the weight of his crimes?
When the police questioned me, I said Alex was with me at home. I could have looked at my calendar. I would have known the truth right away. I didn’t think I had a reason to look because I believed my husband was innocent. Now I think it’s because I was afraid to find something I didn’t want to see.
Something else comes to mind and the ultrasound photo slips from my weakened fingers.
His clothes.
Alex had smelled extra sweaty that night and there was a dark brown stain across the front of his T-shirt. I clearly remember washing it by hand before tossing it into the washing machine. I didn’t think much of it. He did dirty work a lot of the time. It was the nature of the job.
There could be other signs I’d missed.
Now that I have the information, I don’t know what to do with it. Do I go to the police? Do I do nothing?
Alex could be innocent, but there’s so much I can’t explain, so many unanswered questions. Before I jump to any conclusions, I need to conduct my own search for the truth. I need to find proof that my husband is not a murderer.
Chapter 31
Two days after discovering the ribbon in Alex’s cosmetic bag, I wake up to breaking news on TV.
Jeffrey Holder was found hanging in his cell.
My head is swimming. My trembling hands rub the sweat off my face as I try to wake up. I force my mind to focus so I can listen. Maybe I heard wrong.
The more I hear, the more I can’t breathe.
How is it possible? I just saw him two days ago.
I get out of bed, but even though my feet touch the floor, I don’t feel it.
Sudden nausea erupts through me, and I run to the bathroom. Even after throwing up, I don’t feel better.
I’ve spent the last two days hoping my husband had nothing to do with Brittney’s death. Now Jeffrey can never tell the world whether he committed the crimes they accused him of. He will take the truth to the grave.
With my head over the toilet bowl, Jenna’s smiling face comes to my mind and I cry for her, my tears dripping into the water.
She lost both parents under such tragic circumstances. One day she will grow up and the truth will break her heart more than it’s breaking mine.
After rinsing out my mouth, I return to the room, but the bitter taste of bile still lingers on my tongue. I stare at the TV and watch a clip of Jeffrey’s body being wheeled out of the prison gates.
They’re saying, just like his wife, he killed himself because he couldn’t live with the guilt, but I’m not buying it.
The urge to find out what really happened is making me breathless.
Brittney McLaren’s face shows up on the TV screen again, the same photo of her with ribbons in her hair.
Driven by pure adrenaline, I throw clothes into a backpack, then I flick off the TV and get out of the apartment.
