has she been out there?” I say, though the words are rough, more like a croak.
“Approximately six months, according to the coroner.”
Six months.
I have walked on that path a hundred times since then. Walked right over her.
The thought is more than I can take.
A pair of hands grip my hand. “Are you okay, sweetheart? God, I’m so sorry.”
Me too.
I wish I could tell Joanna how sorry I am for everything. What I wouldn’t give to go back and replay the last night we were together. I said such terrible things. Christ, I was awful. A demon, she’d said. For the last six months, I damned her for leaving, for saying the things she did, for walking out without looking back, and all this time, she was out there. Buried beneath the dark umbrella of cypresses.
“The baby.” I can’t breathe. Nausea rises in my throat. “What about the baby?”
“I’m sorry.” That bastard Shaw looks smug. “We can’t reveal much at this point, but as of mid-July, and the day we believe she was buried out there, Joanna Harris wasn’t pregnant.”
“I don’t—I can’t…I hear what you’re saying, but the words aren’t coming together.”
“To put it plainly, Mr. Harris, your wife wasn’t pregnant when she died.”
I retch onto the hardwood.
DETECTIVE SHAW
Once Michael Harris recovered, and their housekeeper cleaned up the mess he’d made on the floor, we asked if they would allow us to escort them to the station. Informally, of course. We read them both their rights, but made sure they knew they were not under arrest and could leave at any time they pleased. Patel also informed them of their right to have a lawyer present. Both declined, which is what we were hoping for.
Keep it light. Keep it informal. Lock them into a story they can’t escape from.
On the surface, it may appear as if I know very little. I ask questions about small, seemingly insignificant things. Behind the scenes, however, our investigation is moving fast.
There are many things we already know for certain.
Michael Harris took out a $25 million life insurance policy on his wife last year. She also took one out on him. His business, Harris Financial, is in trouble, and has been for some time. Late in the evening on July fifteenth, Joanna fought with her husband. Uniforms were called to their home for a domestic dispute, but in the end, she didn’t press charges, so her husband wasn’t arrested. According to Michael Harris, she left him the following day.
Some time soon thereafter, Joanna Harris was murdered.
Cause of death? Blunt force trauma to the back of the skull. The murder weapon was most likely a shovel or other garden tool, considering that the back of her skull was smashed in the shape of a spade. We haven’t found the weapon yet, but we’re hopeful something will come up in the search of Michael Harris’s shed. Toxicology hasn’t come back yet, but we expect a report in the next few days. It’s standard procedure to order the report, but we’re curious to know whether the victim had any drugs or toxicants in her system when she was killed.
After identifying the victim as Joanna Harris, Patel obtained a search warrant for the Harris home. He’s working on a search warrant for Harris’s phone and for his call records as well as those of his wife. One detective on the team is digging into Harris’s financial dealings. Another is contacting Joanna’s doctors.
We’re painting a picture, and it’s not looking good for Harris. Patel thinks all signs point to him as our killer. A crime of passion, perhaps? Or a continuation of the fight that led the neighbors to call 911 on July fifteenth? But there are snags in his otherwise smooth line of thinking.
A gold medallion with the Virgin Mary etched into the front was around Joanna’s neck, a topaz gemstone cradled in the Virgin Mother’s hands. The gem is the birthstone