Chapter 5: The Truth Comes In Pieces
1691 Words
The door opened wider.
Two uniformed officers were in the hall, squared shoulders, hands resting on their belts. Behind them, another man lingered. Plain clothes. Older. His gaze slid past Ethan and lit immediately on Lena, as if she were already a part of a file he’d read far too many times.
“Mr. Blackwood,” the man said. “I’m Detective Harris.”
Ethan stepped aside. Just enough to obscure Lena’s sight without it being too conspicuous. A small thing. Maybe instinct. Maybe strategy.
“You said you had a warrant,” Ethan responded.
Harris held it up. Paper. Ink. Authority. “We do.”
Lena felt her knees soften. She composed herself on the edge of the bed before they completely gave way. The mattress sagged beneath her. Too soft. It swallowed her a little.
“We need to talk to Miss Lena Moore,” Harris added. “Privately.”
Ethan didn’t move. “She’s had a long day.”
Harris’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. “So did your wife.”
The words fell in the room like a dropped object.
Lena felt a sudden, unsettling twist in her gut.
"I'll go," she murmured, her voice a little shaky, than she had intended.
Ethan glanced back at her. Their eyes met. Something unspoken passed between them. Not trust. Not comfort. Something unfinished.
"Don't," he murmured.
Harris arched an eyebrow. "That's not your decision."
Ethan let out a breath. Stepped aside.
The officers entered first. Harris followed. The room felt smaller immediately. As if the walls had inched a little closer while no one was watching.
“Miss Moore,” Harris said. “You’re not under arrest. Yet.”
Yet.
“Okay,” Lena said. Her hands were damp. She dabbed at them with the dress and immediately wished she hadn’t.
Harris noticed. He always would.
“Let’s start simple,” he said. “Tell me about the night Evelyn Blackwood died.”
Lena swallowed. The words didn’t fit well together in her head. They never did.
“It was raining,” she began. “I worked late,” she said. I went past the marina because it was faster than the main road.”
“Why that route?” Harris asked.
“It’s what I always took.”
“Always,” he said, jotting down a note.
She nodded. Her neck felt stiff.
“"Did you happen to see Mrs. Blackwood that evening?”
“No.”
“Did you speak to her?”
“No.”
“Did you touch her?”
Her breath hitched. “No.”
Silence stretched.
Harris studied her face. “Do you remember stopping?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“By the end of the dock,” Lena said. “I took a rest against the railing for one minute.”
“Why?”
She hesitated. “I was tired.”
That was true. Just not all of it.
Ethan shifted near the door. She felt it without looking.
“What time did you leave the marina?” Harris asked.
"Not sure. Late."
"That's not really an answer."
“After midnight,” she said.
Harris drummed his pen against the paper. “Our video footage shows you pulling in at 11:42 p.m.”
Lena’s heart stuttered. “Okay.”
“And leaving at 12:06.”
She frowned, a little puzzled. "That doesn't seem right."
“Why?”
“I didn’t stay that long.”
“You’re sure.”
“Yes.”
Ethan stared her down now.
Harris leaned back slightly. “Memory is unreliable. Especially around trauma.”
“I wasn’t traumatized at that time,” Lena said.
“Were you upset?”
She paused. “I was… distracted.”
“By what?”
She shook her head, a quick, dismissive motion. "I don't want to say."
Harris's eyes narrowed, the question hanging in the air. "Why not?"
"Because it doesn't matter."
He smiled then. Thin. “It always matters.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “Is this necessary?”
Harris kept his gaze averted. "Very."
Lena's eyes were fixed on the carpet. Thick. Clean. Probably imported.
“I was waiting for someone,” she said.
Ethan's gaze shot to her.
Harris's pen paused mid-stroke. “Who?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“How convenient.”
“I didn’t say I was seeing him,” Lena said, quickly. “He didn’t show.”
“When was this arranged?”
“A few days earlier.”
“How?”
“Online.”
Ethan took a step forward. “What kind of meeting?”
Lena felt her cheeks flush. "I don't believe that's—"
“It is,” Harris cut in.
“It was literally a conversation,” she said. “I was planning on quitting my job. He said he had opportunities.”
“What kind of opportunities?”
“I don’t know,” she repeated, this time more loudly. “I never found out.”
Harris scribbled something. “So you waited. At night. In the rain. On an empty dock.”
“Yes.”
“And as you waited,” Harris went on, “Evelyn Blackwood was in the water, drowning.
“I did not see her,” Lena said. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Water carries sound.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Harris studied her. Then glanced at Ethan.
“You know,” he said, “your wife had a date that night too.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
“And that the meeting site is the same dock that Miss Moore was waiting on.”
“Yes.”
Lena’s head snapped up. “What?”
Ethan didn’t look at her.
“You didn’t tell her?” Harris asked mildly.
“There was no need to,” Ethan said.
Lena’s chest felt tight. “You knew she was seeing someone?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re still blaming me.
“I believe,” Ethan said after a moment, choosing his words with care, “that I don’t have the whole puzzle.”
Harris closed his notebook. “Neither do we. But we will.”
He stood. The officers shifted.
“For the time being,” Harris told Lena, “we’ll require your phone.”
Her breath caught. “Why?”
“Routine.”
“I don’t have it,” she replied. “It broke months ago.”
Harris’s eyes flicked to Ethan.
She had received a replacement device, Ethan said. “For security.”
Harris turned back to her. “We’ll take that.”
Lena’s heart dropped. “I—”
Ruth entered from the doorway as if she’d been waiting for the cue. She held out a phone. Black. New. Unfamiliar.
“I never took it,” Lena said, weakly.
Harris took it anyway. “We’ll see.”
The officers filed out. Harris paused at the door.
“One more thing,” he said. “Miss Moore, does this look familiar?”
He held up a photo.
Grainy. Dark. Two figures near the water.
One tall. One smaller.
The smaller of the two was wearing a jacket.
Her jacket.
Lena let out her breath in a rush. “I lost that.”
“When?”
“Months ago.”
Harris nodded. “We’ll be in touch.”
The door closed.
Silence rushed in, louder than ever.
Lena floundered at the open doorway. Her ears rang.
“You knew,” she said finally.
Ethan didn’t respond.
“You knew that your wife was meeting someone,” she said. "And you didn't say anything."
"I didn't think it was important."
"It was to me."
He looked at her then. Really looked. His face gave nothing away.
"You need to get some sleep," he continued.
She laughed. A short, broken sound. “You think I can sleep?”
“No.”
“Then why say it?”
He didn’t answer.
She stood. Her legs were weak, but they held on.
“You think I’m making this up,” she said.
“I think you’re scared.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
“Do you want me to leave?” she asked.
“No.”
The word came too fast.
She looked at him. “Why?”
“Because if you go away,” he said, “and something happens to you, I’ll never know the truth.
Her chest tightened. “So I’m bait.”
His silence was answer enough.
She turned away. Walked toward the window. You couldn’t even see the water. Black. Still.
“I didn’t murder her,” Lena said. “But I think she saw something.”
Ethan’s head lifted slightly.
“I’m pretty sure Evelyn saw whoever she was meeting,” Lena added. “And I think that’s why she stopped coming into the café. She seemed … scared the last time I saw her.”
“You never told me that before,” Ethan said.
“You never asked.”
He moved closer. Slowly. As though he thought it would spook her.
“What exactly did she say?” he asked.
“She asked me if I believed people could vanish,” Lena said. “Without dying.”
Ethan froze.
Before he could answer, Ruth’s voice floated from across the hall.
“Mr. Blackwood,” she called. “You should come see this.”
Ethan turned toward the door.
“What is it?” Lena asked.
Ruth hesitated. “The security team got archived footage.
Ethan’s shoulders tensed. “From when?”
“From the marina office,” Ruth said. “The night your wife died.”
Lena’s pulse thundered.
“Does it show her?” Ethan asked.
Ruth swallowed. “It shows someone else.”
Ethan looked back at Lena.
And for the first time since she’d known him, his face changed. Not suspicion.
Fear.
“Who?” he asked.
Ruth’s voice dropped. “You.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Lena’s breath was a release as the words landed.
And in some corner of her mind, a memory pricked. Not clear. Not whole.
But moving.
- Writer
