Forensic Girlfriend

Chapter 3:Husband

Santa Monica, 9:00 AM

The address from the DMV led Maddy to a small apartment complex near the beach. Not fancy, but nice enough. The kind of place where young couples started out before they had kids and mortgages and reasons to move to the suburbs.

She knocked on door 3B.

A man answered. Late twenties, early thirties. Dark circles under his eyes. Unshaven. Wearing clothes that looked like he'd slept in them.

"Mr. Chen?"

"Yeah." His voice was rough. "You're the police?"

"Detective Cole, LAPD." Maddy showed her badge. "Can I come in?"

He stepped aside.

The apartment was a mess. Dishes in the sink. Clothes on the floor. Takeout containers on every surface. A little girl sat in the corner, maybe four years old, playing with Play-Doh and watching them with big, curious eyes.

"That's Lily." Chen's voice cracked. "She keeps asking for her mom. I don't know what to tell her."

Maddy's chest tightened. She'd seen this before—the aftermath. The wreckage. The people left behind.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Chen."

He nodded. Didn't say anything.

They sat at the kitchen table. Maddy pulled out her notebook.

"Tell me about the night your wife disappeared."

Chen took a breath. Let it out slowly. "She got a call. From work. Some students were fighting, they needed her to come in."

"What time?"

"Maybe eight? Eight-thirty? I was doing dishes. She grabbed her bag and left."

"And when did you realize she wasn't coming back?"

He rubbed his face with both hands. "Around ten. I called her. No answer. Then she texted—said she'd be late, don't wait up."

"You still have that text?"

He pulled out his phone, scrolled, handed it over.

Running late, babe. Don't wait up. Love you.

Maddy studied it. Ordinary words. Ordinary punctuation. Nothing suspicious.

"This was the last time you heard from her?"

"Yeah." Chen's voice broke. "Next morning, the school called. She never showed up. I filed a report right away."

Maddy nodded, making notes. "How was your relationship with your wife?"

He looked up sharply. "What does that matter?"

"It matters because we have to consider all possibilities, Mr. Chen. Everyone who knew her is a potential suspect until we prove otherwise."

He stared at her for a long moment. Then his shoulders slumped.

"We were fine. Good, even. I mean, we argued sometimes—who doesn't? But we loved each other. We'd been together since college." He gestured at the little girl in the corner. "We have a kid. We were happy."

Maddy watched him as he talked. Looking for tells. The micro-expressions she'd learned to read over fifteen years on the job.

He seemed genuine. But killers often did.

"One more thing." She pulled out the evidence bag with the ring. "Is this your wife's?"

Chen's eyes went wide. He reached for it, then stopped himself. "Yes. That's—that's our wedding ring. She never took it off. Where did you find it?"

"Near where her body was discovered." Maddy put the bag away. "I'll return it once the case is closed."

He nodded, still staring at the bag like it held the last piece of his wife.

Maddy stood. "We'll be in touch, Mr. Chen. If you think of anything—anything at all—call me."

She handed him her card.

At the door, she paused. Looked back. The little girl was still playing with her Play-Doh, shaping it into something that might have been a person.

"Mr. Chen," Maddy said quietly, "did your wife have any enemies? Anyone who might have wanted to hurt her?"

He shook his head. "No. Everyone loved Jenny. She was a teacher. She helped people. She—" His voice broke again. "She was the best person I knew."

Maddy nodded and walked out.

Later That Day

Back at the station, Maddy spread everything out on her desk.

Photos. Notes. The ring in its evidence bag. A timeline she'd sketched on a whiteboard.

Jenny Chen, age 29, high school English teacher. Married seven years. One daughter, age 4. No criminal record. No known enemies. No history of drug use or risky behavior.

Last seen: May 14, around 8:30 PM, leaving her apartment.

Last heard from: 10:23 PM, via text message.

Body discovered: May 17, 7:00 PM, Echo Park Lake.

Cause of death: drowning—but in salt water, not fresh.

Maddy stared at the timeline. Something didn't fit.

She picked up the phone.

"Hey, it's Cole. Can you pull up traffic camera footage for the night of May 14? All major routes between here and the coast. Yeah, I'll wait."

While she waited, she looked at the ring again.

J.

Jenny's name started with J. Jennifer Chen.

But the ring wasn't engraved with "Jenny" or "Jennifer." Just a single letter. Simple. Anonymous.

Maddy turned it over in her fingers, thinking.

The Morgue, Again

Vera Lin was still there when Maddy arrived that evening. Still in her scrubs, though she'd changed out of the protective gear. Sitting at a small desk in the corner, reading something on her laptop.

"You live here?" Maddy asked.

Vera didn't look up. "The dead keep better hours than the living. They don't complain. They don't ask questions. They just... wait."

Maddy pulled up a chair. "What did you find?"

Vera swiveled the laptop around. On screen: images of lung tissue, magnified. Tiny shapes visible under the microscope.

"Diatoms," Vera said. "Microscopic algae. Different species live in different water. The ones in your Jane Doe's lungs match coastal waters—Santa Monica Bay, specifically. Not Echo Park Lake."

"So she drowned in the ocean."

"Looks like it. But here's the interesting part." Vera zoomed in on another image. "These diatoms are also present in her stomach and intestines. That means she swallowed the water while she was still alive. She was breathing, swallowing, fighting—all the things a living person does when they're drowning."

"And then someone moved her body."

"Someone moved her body after she was dead. The stab wound—" Vera pulled up another image. "—happened post-mortem. No bleeding, no inflammation. Just a hole in an already-dead chest."

Maddy processed that. "So the killer staged it to look like a murder. Or to frame someone."

"Or both." Vera closed the laptop. "Your victim was killed somewhere else, by someone who knew her. The ocean location suggests personal connection—maybe she liked the beach, had memories there. The lake suggests the killer wanted her found, not hidden. And the stab wound—" She shrugged. "That's just theater."

Maddy sat back, thinking.

"Anything else?" she asked.

Vera hesitated. Just for a second. "One thing. The ring you found—can I see it?"

Maddy pulled out the evidence bag. Vera took it, held it up to the light, studied the engraving.

"J," she said softly. Almost to herself.

"You know something?"

Vera's face went blank. "No. Nothing." She handed the ring back. "Just... it's a common initial."

Maddy didn't believe her. But she didn't push.

Not yet.