Page 47 of Memory of Murder
He walked back to his desk. Anne glanced at Jack, and he hitched his head toward the door.
They walked out. As soon as they were back in the car he pulled out of the parking slot, and Anne rushed to rip open the envelope.
When he braked to wait for traffic to clear, she pressed her fingers to her lips and turned to him. “It’s the report on the paternity test.”
He searched her eyes for some sense of the contents of the report. “And?”
“Neil was my father, he’s listed as Test Subject #2 and, of course there’s mine, Test Subject #1. They used the noninvasive blood test to collect my sample via Mother’s blood. Then there’s a third set of DNA but no name, justTest Subject #3.”
“We may not have the name, but we have the guy’s DNA. This is good, Anne. Maybe an important piece of the puzzle.”
He doubted that Mary Morton would have had the presence of mind to take a sample at the time of her assault. She’d likely sneaked a hair or a toothbrush from Langston’s home whenshe realized she was pregnant and paternity became a concern. Whatever she’d done, it worked.
Before Anne said more his cell vibrated. He picked it up, checked the screen to identify the caller.Blocked call. He tapped accept. “Brenner.”
“Mr. Brenner, this is Carin Wallace. I think we need to talk.”
“I agree.” His gaze caught Anne’s. “When and where would you like to meet, Ms. Wallace?”
“Why not now? I’ll be visiting my old friend Neil Reed at Crystal Lake Cemetery. See you there.”
The sound of the call ending echoed in his ear.
“We got her attention,” he told Anne as he pulled out onto the street. “She wants to meet.”
“Now?” Her eyes widened. “Where?”
“She’ll meet us at the cemetery where your father is buried.”
The shock on Anne’s face caused a literal pain in his chest.
Damn…he’d gotten way too close to this…to her.
Chapter Seventeen
Crystal Lake
Crystal Lake Cemetery
Ridgefield Road, 3:50 p.m.
Anne stared at the sleek black granite headstone. It was beautiful and at the same time cold and distant. The nameNeil Aaron Reedwas engraved in big letters. Beneath that wasBeloved son. And of course his dates of birth and death. No mention of his wife or his child.
She hadn’t expected to feel anything, but somehow she did. The man buried here was her father. He’d died at a younger age than Anne was right now. No, he hadn’t just died—he had been murdered. Not because he’d been a bad man or because he’d done bad things but because someone had wanted what was his.
Fury swelled in her chest. She had never felt so wronged in her life. All those years in foster care could have been avoided. She could have grown up in a good, stable home with good, loving parents…but that opportunity had been stolen from her.
Sure there were plenty of kids in the system who got lucky and ended up with amazing families for their foster care years. But Anne had been one of the unlucky kids who’d bounced from neglectful home to abusive home to overcrowded ones where no one received the care and attention they needed. She supposed it was, in part, because she’d been somewhat difficult between the ages of five and twelve. It was hard when you reached acertain stage in childhood and understood that no one wanted you. Not a single person in the whole world loved you.
And all the stories you had heard about your mother labeled her a monster.
A barrage of those old emotions twisted inside her, had her eyes burning with the need to cry. She would never cry over those years again. Ever. Now she knew things no one had bothered to tell her as a child. According to the journal, this man—her gaze traveled over his name once more—had wanted her. He and Mary had made plans for their future—theirs and their child’s. It would have helped so much if she had known this back then. Anne thought of the people closest to her parents. Eve and Kevin Langston. Carin Carter Wallace. Judith Hudson. Beatrice Farrell. Why had no one bothered to find Anne and tell her any of this? Why had they heartlessly allowed her to believe the worst?
Jack rested his hand at the small of her back as if he sensed the turmoil inside her. “You okay?”
She was shaking. She hadn’t realized this until he touched her. Her fists were clenched at her sides.Deep breath. Reaching for calm, she steadied herself and turned her face up to his. “I will be.”
“From what I’ve learned so far,” he offered, “I don’t believe your parents were responsible in any way for how this turned out. I also don’t think either of them would have wanted you to suffer the hurt and unhappiness you went through as a child. This was a tragedy of someone else’s making.”
