Page 25 of Fatal Fame
"Possibly. But people with suicidal ideation usually show escalating signs, increased isolation, giving away possessions, making final arrangements. Keith's behavior in the days before his death doesn't fit that pattern."
Noah felt his investigative instincts engaging. "What pattern does it fit?"
"Someone who was agitated, certainly. Probably scared. But not necessarily someone who had made peace with dying." Addie pulled the sheet back over Keith's body with the reverence that characterized her approach to the dead. "I've seen enough suicides to recognize the difference between despair and fear."
"Fear of what?"
"That's your job to determine, Detective. I just tell you how they died, not why."
They spent another twenty minutes reviewing Addie's findings, photographing relevant details, and discussing the timeline of Keith's final hours. Nothing they learned contradicted the suicide theory, but nothing definitively confirmed it either. In the absence of clear evidence of murder, Keith Dwyer's death would be classified as self-inflicted pending the full toxicology results.
As they prepared to leave, McKenzie made one final attempt at charm. "Dr. Chambers, perhaps when this case is resolved, you might join me for dinner? I know a lovely restaurant in Lake Placid that serves?—"
"McKenzie," Addie interrupted with a smile that took the sting out of her rejection, "I've told you before. You're a lovely man, but I don't date colleagues. It's unprofessional."
"Ah, but I'm not technically a colleague. I'm a client of your services."
She groaned yet smiled. "That's even worse."
Noah listened to their familiar banter while his mind worked through the implications of Addie's findings. Keith Dwyer was dead by his own hand, but the circumstances suggested external pressure rather than internal despair. Someone or something had frightened him enough to choose death over whatever consequences he feared from staying alive.
"Ay, laddie," McKenzie said as they waited for the elevator, "what's that look on your face? You're thinking something specific."
"I'm thinking we need to understand what Keith was so afraid of that death seemed like the better option."
It was a matter of clarity.The family had already been informed. Still, visiting them didn’t make it any easier. The Dwyer family lived in Pine View Estates, a suburban development that had been carved from forest land during the housing boom of the early 2000s. The neighborhood represented middle-class aspirations made manifest, modest two-story homes with attached garages, lawns maintained with weekend dedication, and the kind of quiet streets where children could ride bicycles without fear of traffic.
The home sat on a corner lot, distinguished from its neighbors by a garden that showed evidence of serious horticultural investment and a mailbox painted to match thehouse's blue trim. The driveway was empty except for a ten-year-old sedan that suggested people who took care of their possessions but couldn't afford to replace them frequently.
Noah and McKenzie approached the front door with the careful deliberation that experienced officers delivering bad news or asking difficult questions might have. The porch was decorated with hanging plants and a welcome mat, creating an atmosphere of domestic tranquility that made their visit feel like an intrusion.
Mrs. Dwyer answered the door before they could knock, as if she'd been watching for their arrival. She was a woman in her early sixties with graying hair and eyes that had been crying recently. She was wearing the kind of comfortable clothes that suggested someone who'd given up on appearances for the day.
"Detective Sutherland? Detective McKenzie?" she said as if expecting this conversation. "Please, come in. "
"Beautiful home you have, Mrs. Dwyer. "
“Call me Helen."
The interior of the Dwyer home reflected decades of careful accumulation, furniture that was well-maintained but not expensive, family photographs covering every available surface, and the kind of lived-in comfort that spoke to people who'd built a life together through patience and determination. A grandfather clock ticked in a corner with a steady rhythm.
Mr. Dwyer rose from his recliner as they entered, a thin man with work-weathered hands and a guarded expression.
"Officers," he said simply, gesturing toward the sofa. "We appreciate you taking the time to come by."
Helen settled into a chair across from them, her hands folded in her lap, trying to maintain composure through force of will. Family photographs surrounded them, Keith as a child, Keith graduating from high school, Keith with his sister at family gatherings. The visual history of a life that had ended too soon.
"We're sorry for your loss," Noah said, the familiar words carrying genuine sympathy despite their routine nature. "We know this is a difficult time, but we need to ask some questions about Keith's state of mind in the days before his death."
"We understand," Helen said. "Anything that might help you understand what happened."
“First, can you tell us about Keith's relationship with Rebecca Hale?"
Helen glanced at her husband, and he nodded slightly, the kind of silent communication that developed between people who'd been married for decades. "Keith always said there wasn't really a relationship. That she was just trying to help him after he graduated."
"But you had reason to think differently?"
Another glance between the parents, and Noah sensed they were approaching information that the family had kept private. "About ten years ago," Helen said carefully, "I came home early from work and saw Rebecca's car in our driveway. When I went inside, I heard some commotion, then the back door closing. I caught sight of her leaving through the yard."
