Chapter 3 - What Winifred Refused to SayBy the time Malcolm reached home, it was nearly midnight.
Police vehicles lined the curb.
Neighbors watched through curtains.
The house looked wrong under flashing lights.
Jasper ran to him the moment he entered.
“Dad!”
Malcolm dropped to his knees.
He held his son.
Hard.
“Where’s Asher?”
“With Aunt Lydia.”
Malcolm’s sister had arrived from nearby.
“He’s okay?”
Jasper nodded.
Then whispered:
“She hit him.”
“I know.”
“I tried to stop her.”
Malcolm pulled back.
“You did exactly the right thing.”
Jasper’s eyes filled.
“Is Winifred bad?”
Malcolm had no answer.
“I don’t know what she is right now.”
Jasper looked confused.
Malcolm kissed his forehead.
“Go with Aunt Lydia.”
Detective Grant waited in the dining room.
The suitcase sat open on the table.
Evidence markers surrounded the contents.
Cash.
Clothing.
Medication.
Photograph.
Documents.
A second phone.
“Where is Winifred?”
“Interview room downtown.”
“Why isn’t she under arrest?”
“She likely will be.”
“Likely?”
Grant looked at him.
“Sit.”
Malcolm did not want to sit.
He did anyway.
She placed a photocopy of a prescription receipt in front of him.
ELEANOR HALE
Filled twenty-eight days earlier.
Medication for anxiety.
Another prescription for blood pressure.
The pharmacy address was in Georgia.
Malcolm stared.
“Someone stole her identity.”
“Possible.”
“Someone who looks like her.”
“Possible.”
“Then say what you think.”
Grant leaned back.
“We pulled the motel surveillance associated with the photograph.”
Malcolm’s pulse quickened.
“And?”
“The woman stayed there.”
“Name?”
“Eleanor Hale.”
He laughed bitterly.
“That proves identity theft.”
“Maybe.”
“Did you get video?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
Grant opened her tablet.
A woman entered the motel lobby.
Malcolm forgot how to breathe.
Same walk.
Eleanor used to tilt slightly left because of an old ankle injury.
The woman did too.
Same habit of touching her hair behind her ear.
Same narrow shoulders.
Malcolm leaned closer.
“No.”
“Mr. Hale—”
“No.”
The woman turned toward the camera.
Malcolm stood.
“Stop.”
Grant paused the footage.
He stared.
Three years of grief crashed into him.
“That’s her.”
“You’re certain?”
“That’s Eleanor.”
“But you identified her remains.”
Malcolm’s mouth went dry.
“Yes.”
“Then we have a serious problem.”
He looked at her.
“Where is she?”
“We don’t know.”
“Find her.”
“We are.”
“Why does Winifred have this?”
“That’s what I want to know.”
Malcolm stood.
“I want to speak to her.”
Grant hesitated.
“She asked to speak with you.”
“Good.”
“She also asked that you leave your phone outside.”
Malcolm’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“She says someone may be listening.”
Normally he would have dismissed it.
Not tonight.
They drove downtown.
Winifred sat behind glass.
Her silver-gray hair was disheveled.
She looked smaller than she had in the kitchen.
But Malcolm felt no pity.
He entered.
No phone.
No watch.
Nothing electronic.
Winifred looked up.
“Mr. Hale.”
Malcolm sat.
“You hit Asher.”
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I lost control.”
“That’s not enough.”
“No.”
“You called him a bastard.”
She looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
“After everything my family gave you?”
Her face changed.
“Everything your family gave me?”
Malcolm frowned.
“That sounded bitter.”
“Because you still think I stayed for money.”
“You had sixty thousand dollars in a suitcase.”
“That money was given to me.”
“By whom?”
Winifred said nothing.
“Eleanor?”
Her eyes lifted.
Malcolm’s chest tightened.
“You know she’s alive.”
Winifred whispered:
“Yes.”
The room seemed to contract.
Malcolm stared at her.
“For how long?”
“Three months.”
He stood.
“You knew for three months?”
“Sit down.”
“Don’t tell me to sit down.”
“You need to hear everything.”
“My wife is alive.”
“Yes.”
“You let me believe she was dead.”
“I believed she was dead too.”
“Until three months ago.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
Winifred’s face filled with fear.
“Because Eleanor begged me not to.”
Malcolm laughed.
“Of course.”
“She said if you knew, Jasper would be in danger.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“And later Asher.”
Malcolm sat slowly.
“What does Asher have to do with Eleanor?”
Winifred looked toward the one-way mirror.
Then back at him.
“Everything.”
Malcolm’s heart pounded.
Winifred continued:
“The woman you buried three years ago was not Eleanor.”
“I know that now.”
“No.”
Her voice dropped.
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
“She was supposed to be.”
Malcolm stared.
May you like
Winifred whispered:
“Someone was trying to kill your wife.”
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