“Well, there’s more. She wasn’t exactly honest when she said Becca was the one asking for a meeting in those texts they exchanged. It was actually Kate who wanted to see Becca. According to the entry, Kate planned to confront her about the possibility Erik and Becca were having a—a thing, you know.”
“We were besties, marrying besties. It was so perfect . . .” Kate’s voice rose in Dru’s mind. Was perfect, not is perfect. Why hadn’t Dru noticed it that night when Kate had sought her out in the kitchen—her use of the past tense when she’d spoken of her and Erik’s plans? What she had noticed was that Kate had seemed discouraged and anxious. But they’d all been anxious.
Shea said, “Kate would have broken their engagement if Erik was cheating on her.”
“How do you think Ayala would have reacted if she broke it off with him?” Ken asked.
“Not good,” Shea said.
Dru remembered Erik’s elation when they’d spoken about Kate in Dru’s driveway only days ago. “It would have devastated him,” she said.
Enough to kill her? The obvious question hung in the air, unasked.
“Here’s the thing,” Ken said. “The ME says Becca’s pregnancy was about five weeks along, which means it happened in April, around the time Kate and Erik broke up.”
Shea looked stunned. “You’re saying it was his baby?”
“We can’t know for sure—”
“Did Kate suspect?” Shea talked over Ken. “But if she thought he killed Becca over that, why would she agree to meet him? Why didn’t she tell me, or the police, or somebody?”
“She didn’t have proof, like we don’t. Until we get DNA, this is all speculation. Reading Kate’s journal, the last entry, she had spoken to Erik, told him of her suspicion. She mentioned the lip liner. Evidently she did remember the two of you buying it, same brand, same shade. She told Erik about that, too. From what she wrote, she felt she could reason with him, get him to turn himself in. She said he agreed to it, that if after they talked, she thought he should go to the police, then he’d do it. I don’t think she realized the kind of mental instability she was dealing with. It doesn’t appear from her writings that it crossed her mind she might be putting herself in danger.”
Dru moved to Shea’s side. “Do you have any word on where Erik is?”
“Not yet. We’re working on getting a warrant to search his apartment, but y’all need to be extra careful, because we’re thinking—and Dallas PD agrees—Ayala is still in the area, and he’s got to be feeling pretty desperate by now. We thought he might try to beat it down to Oaxaca to his mom and her family, and we’re trying to get information one way or another on that, but we’ve had no luck so far. We haven’t been able to locate Ms. Ayala, either.”
“That’s not my heritage . . . Oaxaca isn’t my country.” Erik had said that to Dru, and he’d seemed offended now that Dru thought of it. He’d seemed to resent she would even suggest there was a connection.
“I doubt he’s gone to Oaxaca,” she said.
“You’ve cleared AJ, right?” Shea swiped at her eyes.
“That note Leigh found? We’ve been able to determine for sure it was written in lip liner, and we found a print on it, a partial, enough to rule out AJ, but he’s not off the list entirely.”
Shea started to argue.
Ken held up his hand. “It’s how the law works, Shea. You just have to roll with it, okay? Let us do our job, and we’ll get there.”
“The print on the note, could it be Erik’s?” Dru asked.
“We’re checking now. His prints should be in the system through the military, but so far we’ve not been able to get hold of them, maybe because they cut him loose. I don’t know.”
“He was always so helpful and kind,” Dru said. “I would never have imagined—”
“It’s possible something snapped,” Ken said. “People do. They go off the deep end. I can’t stress enough how dangerous he is now. You need to keep alert. If you’ve got a gun and know how to use it, keep it loaded and handy.”
“AJ’s in more danger than we are,” Shea said. “Erik’s already tried to kill him.”
“We’ve got an officer with him, but let’s hope we get Ayala soon.”
Shea’s phone rang. She got it from her purse. “It’s AJ,” she said.
Ken and Dru waited to hear that the call was of no concern before walking to the front door. “I’d keep Shea home if you can,” Ken said.
“Trust me,” Dru said. “I’m not letting her out of my sight.”
She ought to have known better. Shea left to go back to the hospital and AJ as soon as she’d had a shower and changed her clothes.
21
Lily picked up a pizza for dinner, sausage, cheese, and black olives, on the way back to the xL. She wasn’t hungry. She didn’t imagine her dad or Paul was, either, but she would provide a meal nonetheless. She expected to find both men in the kitchen, but Paul was the only one sitting at the island. He had his phone in his hand, texting, but when he saw her, he shut it off. Something about the furtive way he did it gave Lily a bad feeling.
“Where’s Dad?” She set the pizza on the counter. Redolent smells of cheese and sausage made her stomach churn.
“Gone to lie down,” Paul said.
“Is he all right?”
“Yeah. Just tired, I think.”
She was worried it was more, possibly a whole lot more. What if her dad was losing his mind? She considered sharing her concern with Paul, but when she spoke, all she said was, “I’ll make a salad.”
“Don’t go to the trouble on my account,” Paul said.
Lily held his gaze. The air between them was thick with words that needed saying. But she was as weary as her dad. And while she was beyond relieved that AJ was safe, she was heartsick over Erik—that he could have committed such violence, murdered those girls, and injured AJ was no less fathomable or acceptable than if it had been AJ who was responsible. Lily couldn’t bear thinking of Winona, of how this would affect her, the enormous devastation it would cause.
“We have to talk,” Paul said.
“I want to check on Dad first,” Lily said. “Did he go upstairs?”
“No. He’s in his office, I think.”
Lily felt Paul’s eyes tracking her as she left the kitchen. Perversely, she wished he would leave. Be gone. Poof!
Opening the door to her dad’s office, she peered in at him. It was dusk; the light was translucent, greenish, swimmy. She crossed the room noiselessly to the couch. He was sleeping, but his face was drawn, his brow furrowed as if in terrible consternation. His eyes twitched in a way Lily found disturbing. She noticed he was holding his cell phone, tightly enough that his knuckles were white.
Oh, Daddy . . .
She lowered her hand to touch his brow, letting it hover there. What was happening in his brain? To his mind? His strong, reliable, singular mind?
Lily drew the light throw from the back of the couch and covered him, phone and all, and left him, closing the door quietly. She couldn’t work out her dad’s issues now, not with Paul in the kitchen—Paul who would say there was nothing wrong with her father, that her worry was for nothing.
He was back, texting, when she returned to the kitchen, and he looked up at her. “Client,” he said as if she’d asked.
Lily retrieved plates, napkins, and silver, setting them on the island.