Peighton shook her head, unable to speak. Her insides felt numb, and she was sure she would vomit if she’d had anything in her stomach. Beside her, Kyle sat quietly. He hadn’t spoken since they left the house, his last words an accusation toward his mother.
“Kyle,” she said softly, moving her hand toward his. He pulled them back dramatically, not bothering to look at her. “Kyle, sweetheart, please talk to me.” When he didn’t answer, she went on. “You can’t have meant what you said at the house. You know I would never do anything to hurt your father.”
Still, no answer. “Kyle, look at me.”
“What, Mom? What do you want?” he asked, his voice rising.
“Kyle, honey, please just…don’t yell,” she said in a hurried whisper, unsure of what she really wanted to say to him. Nothing felt right. She couldn’t ask if he was okay, because of course he wasn’t. She couldn’t ask if he’d meant what he said, because it would only hurt to know the answer. She couldn’t tell him it was going to be okay, because she wasn’t sure if anything would ever feel okay again. So, instead, she put her head down, staring at her clasped hands.
After a few more minutes of absolute silence, the door to their room finally opened and the officer who had been with them at the house entered. In his hands, he held three white squares: photographs, Peighton realized.
“All right, guys,” he said as he pulled out his chair and sat down, “our medical examiner captured these three photographs of the victim. I want to prepare you for what you’re going to see.” He laid the photographs down in front of him face down. “His jaw was broken during the fall—”
“Fall?” Peighton asked.
“The victim fell down a flight of stairs in your home,” Officer Nealson answered. “His neck and jaw were broken immediately.” He stopped, staring at Kyle, who had taken in a sharp breath and wasn’t releasing it. Peighton looked beside her, touching her son’s shoulders. This time, he didn’t pull away.
“Kyle, you don’t have to be here for this,” she said.
He glanced up at the officer, his face grim. “Go on.”
“The pictures are going to be hard to look at, ma’am. Even just a broken jaw distorts the face quite a bit. Our M.E. tried to set it back in place, but it’s still not back to normal. The first two are a frontal and profile shot of his face.” He pushed two pictures out of the pile without turning them over. His finger landed on the last picture. “The third is of a tattoo the victim has on his chest. Since it may be hard to recognize him, tattoos and birthmarks often make it easier on families.” Peighton nodded, though her chest grew tight with each breath. She knew what the tattoo would be. She could see it in her mind already, picture the day he got it. “Whenever you’re ready,” the officer spoke softly, his hands brushing over the pictures.
Peighton nodded. “I’m ready.”
Cautiously, he lifted the photographs up, turning them over in front of them like a stack of cards. Peighton had known it was coming, she was sure it would be her husband, and yet the moment he turned the pictures over, a small bit of hope she hadn’t known was there dissipated. She sucked in a deep breath, tears immediately filling her eyes. Her breathing grew shallow and the room seemed to close in around her. Beside her, she was only vaguely aware of her son’s loud, groaning sob. She pulled the pictures close to her with careful, shaking hands. There he was: her beautiful best friend. She ran a finger over his brown, matted hair. His jaw hung strangely to the left, and his nose was swollen, a deep cut running across it. His eyelids were closed, yet she knew if he opened them she would see the deep sea-green she was so in love with. In the last picture she saw the tattoo that boasted their son’s name and birthday. His tiny footprints danced just below Todd’s left collar bone.
Finally, Kyle spoke, breaking her train of thought. “It’s him.”
The officer nodded, writing something down in his notepad. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Can we see him?” Peighton asked.
“Soon,” he confirmed. “We’ll need to ask you a few questions when you’re ready. And then I can have someone take you back to see him.”
“Okay,” Peighton said softly, letting him take the photographs back. “What do you need to know?”
“Would you like to do the interviews separately?” he asked, looking at Kyle.
“He’s a minor,” Peighton said, grabbing her son’s hand. “I should be with him.”
“Very well,” the officer said. “Where were you today?” He flipped his notebook to another page and looked up at them.
“You need our alibis? Wasn’t this an accident? Did someone do this to my husband? Did someone hurt him?” Peighton asked.
“These are just standard questions, ma’am. We don’t know anything yet.”
Peighton clasped her hands together in front of her, squeezing them tight. “I was at work this morning.”
“What time was that?”
“I left around seven-thirty.”
“And what about you, Kyle?” he asked, looking at him.
“I was with my friends.”
“What time was that, would you say?”
Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know, eight maybe?”
“Was anyone in the house after you both left?”
“Just my dad and Isabel.”
“Who’s Isabel?”
“Our housekeeper,” Peighton answered.
“Okay, where is Isabel now?”
Peighton looked at her phone. “It’s Thursday, she’d be running some of Todd’s clothes to the dry cleaners and grocery shopping.”
“We’ll need to speak to her,” the man said. “Are you able to give me her contact information?”
“Of course,” Peighton said, sliding her phone across the table with Isabel’s number on the screen.
“I’ll also need the contact information for the friends you were with today,” he said to Kyle, whose jaw dropped.
“But why?” he whined.
“Just give them to him, Kyle,” Peighton scolded.
“Fine,” he said, pulling out his phone.
As Officer Nealson copied down the names and numbers, he spoke again. “Does anyone besides the four of you have access to your house?”
“Yes, Frank. He’s the head of my husband’s security team. Was,” she corrected herself, “was the head of my husband’s security team, I guess.”
“Is his contact info in here?” he asked, pointing to the phones. Peighton nodded, taking the phone from him to find Frank’s name before handing it back. “Does your house have an alarm system?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Have you had any breakins before? Any strange people lurking around your house?”
“No, never.” Peighton shook her head quickly. “Our neighborhood has always been extremely quiet, we know most of our neighbors. We’ve never worried about anything.”
“Okay, Kyle, now I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Okay,” Kyle grumbled.
“Did you ever notice anything or anyone suspicious around your house? Did your father ever mention anything that made you worry about his or your safety?”
“No,” Kyle said simply.
“Okay, what about what you said earlier? That your mother,” he glanced at Peighton, “knew this was going to happen. What did you mean by that?”
“I don’t know.” Kyle shrugged, rubbing his arms as if he were cold.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
Peighton spoke up. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”
This seemed to catch the officer by surprise. “Excuse me?”