Chapter 11

I swiped my ID at the jail's entrance, the beep louder than my thudding pulse. Metal doors clanked open, and I stepped inside the cold, a sharp contrast from the humid air of St. Augustine that clung to my skin only moments before. The guard gave me a nod, familiar with my face but never easing on protocol.

"Empty your pockets," he instructed, his voice as cold as the steel table before me.

Keys. Badge. Phone. Gum wrapper. Each item landed with a clink or a soft thud. They slid my belongings aside and waved me through the metal detector. It squawked approval, and I gathered my things, shoving them back into my pockets.

"Follow me," said another uniform, leading me down the sterile corridor. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, flickering in rhythm with each step I took. My ponytail swayed, red strands catching the light like threads of fire.

Will Jennings was there behind the glass partition, his eyes two dark pools in a face carved with worry. I had seen that look before—on victims, families, and anyone touched by tragedy. But Will's despair was etched deeper; it came from being accused of the very tragedy that had shattered him.

I sat, lifting the receiver, our reflections mingling on the glass.

"Agent Thomas," he said, his voice barely carrying through the phone line. "Diane said she thought you might come."

"Mr. Jennings. Will." My reply was steady, a counterpoint to the drumbeat in my chest. His fingers twitched, a visible echo of the turmoil within.

"Thanks for coming," he said, the words fighting their way out.

"Of course." I exhaled slowly, scanning his face for any sign of deceit, finding nothing but raw pain. The chair was cold against my skin as I leaned in, mirroring his posture of defeat with one of unwavering support.

"How are you holding up?"

"Okay, I guess," Will said, a tremor in his voice betraying the calm he attempted to portray. His hands fumbled with the edges of his orange jumpsuit. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Tell me," I said, my gaze fixed on his, willing him to draw strength from my resolve. "About the night when it happened."

"It was Danny…," he started, his eyes darting away before finding mine again. "That's our son. He screamed, and I have never heard a scream like that before. It went straight through my bones."

"Go on," I urged, my heart hammering with each beat, a metronome ticking down the seconds we had left.

"His screams tore through the night." Will's voice shook as he continued. "I've never heard him like that—pure terror."

My breath hitched, but I kept my face composed, a blank canvas for him to paint his nightmare upon.

"Take me there," I said, my voice a command more than a request. "Where were you?"

"I was asleep. In bed. I thought Angela was sleeping next to me. But she must have gotten up… for whatever reason, I don't know. Maybe she needed water? Maybe she couldn't sleep? I don't know. I was sound asleep when I heard my son's screams. It was awful. I jumped out of bed and ran toward the sound. Every step echoed like a drumbeat." Will's eyes were distant, reliving the nightmare. "Those seconds… they stretched into eternity."

"Then?" My question was sharp, a knife edge to slice through the haze of his memory.

"I found her…." His voice was a thread, fraying. "She was just lying there. So still. Angela…."

"Did you touch her? Check for a pulse?"

"I did; there was a pulse. My hands… they were shaking." He closed his eyes, squeezing the image out. "I couldn't… think."

"Will, focus." I leaned closer, narrowing the space between us. "The call—tell me about the call."

"The phone slipped twice out of my hand." Frustration seeped through his creased brow. "Third time, I got it. Dialed 911."

"Exact words?"

"Help… need help. My wife, she's not moving." Will's voice cracked anew, splintered by the weight of that moment. "She fell. I told them she had fallen. I'm pretty sure. I don't remember it exactly. It's all a blur."

"That's understandable. What did they say the response time was?"

"It would be fast, they said. That's all, I believe. But it didn't feel fast at all; each tick of the clock—was like a hammer on my skull."

"And you stayed with her?"

"Every second until sirens cut through the silence." He inhaled sharply as if the wail of the ambulance was right there in the room with us. "The pulse disappeared, and I did CPR until they got there. They took over, and she came back to life. She was still alive when they left with her. But she… she never made it to the hospital. Died in the ambulance. I never… never got to say goodbye. I should have gone with her in the ambulance, but then what about the children? I had to stay behind with them and bring them with me. But yes, I did everything I could until the very end."

"Good." I nodded, filing away each word, each inflection. "That's good, Will."

His hands trembled like a sparrow caught in a storm.

"Hey," I whispered, the word a lifeline thrown across the chasm of his despair. "You're doing good. I know this isn't easy."

Will's eyes captured mine, twin pools of pain.

"We had plans, Eva Rae." The dam broke; words were now spilling out with his tears. "A vacation to Barcelona, we were going to take dance lessons… salsa, for the wedding anniversary. We had ten years coming up."

"Sounds beautiful," I murmured.

"Angela…" His voice was shredded, raw, and bleeding. "She was… everything. She was all I had. Her laughter was the best, her laughter—it filled rooms." His chest heaved, a silent sob fighting its way free. "Now, there's just silence. I try to remember what her laughter sounded like, but it's getting harder and harder."

"Keep going." I prodded, not unkindly.

"Her dreams, they were big. So damn big." Salty trails carved paths down his cheeks. "Our future—it was stolen."

"Stolen," I echoed, a vow etched within the single word.

I blinked hard, the sheen of tears threatening to spill over. "Will," I started, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside, "I'm on your side. I believe you're telling the truth. But I needed to see for myself and look into your eyes to be certain."

He met my gaze, his own eyes red-rimmed and haunted.

"Every clue, every witness," I continued, "I'll chase them down. No rock left unturned."

"Thank you," he managed, his voice a hoarse whisper.

"Talk to me about Angela," I said, shifting gears. "Help me know her—the real her, not just what's on paper."

For a moment, there was only the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead, then Will's face softened, a faint smile blossoming through the grief as he remembered.

"Angela had this… energy." The word tumbled out, tinged with warmth. "She'd walk into a room, and it was like suddenly everything was brighter, more alive."

"Sounds like she was remarkable," I noted, my mind painting a picture of a woman full of life and light, now reduced to cold case files and whispers behind closed doors.

"More than you know," Will sighed, and he launched into a story about Angela, one Halloween when she dressed up as a superhero to surprise their son. His laughter, rare and precious, echoed against the concrete walls, a brief respite from the despair.

"Her spirit," he said, wiping away fresh tears, "it's what we need to remember."

"Her spirit will guide us," I assured him, feeling the truth of it deep in my bones. Angela wasn't just a victim; she was the heartbeat of this investigation.

"Have the police mentioned anything about what they have on you? What new evidence has come up?" I asked.

"Nope. Not a word."

"Do you suspect foul play in your wife's death? Would anyone have reason to want her dead?" I asked.

"Like who? No! My wife was the nicest person alive. Everyone loved her…." he paused. "Wait, she did have problems with our neighbor, Carol. She thought she flirted with me and confronted her about it once. But that's all. Those two hated one another."

"Enough for murder?"

He hesitated. "I don't know about that."

I nodded, noting it on my pad. "Anyone else? Former colleagues? She didn't work, did she?"

"Not anymore. She used to be a teacher, but all the kids loved her, and so did the other teachers, so no, I can't think of anything there."

Our time was up. The guard let me know. I pushed back my chair, the metal legs scraping against the linoleum with a jarring screech.

"I'll fight for you, Will," I said, the words heavy like lead yet fierce with promise. "We will get to the bottom of this."

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely rising above a murmur. The skin around his eyes crinkled, a dam holding back a reservoir of anguish. "For believing in me… for everything."

The intensity in his gaze struck a chord, igniting a fire that coursed through my veins—every fiber of my being vibrated with the weight of the responsibility. I nodded once, firmly.

"I won't rest, Will. Not until the world sees what we see."

"Angela would've liked you," he said, the lines on his face softening for a breath, revealing the man he used to be before grief wore him down.

"Then I'm honored," I replied, feeling the ghost of Angela's presence, a whisper urging us forward.

I brushed the wetness from my cheeks, fingertips grazing over skin that felt too tight, too raw. Standing tall, I met Will's gaze one last time before parting.

"You'll hear from me soon," I said, voice steady despite the storm of emotion.

"Thank you, Eva Rae," he replied, the words barely above a whisper but carrying the weight of his world.

Turning on my heel, I strode from the visiting area. The pieces lay scattered in my mind—a jigsaw puzzle begging for order. Facts interweaved with hunches, timelines intersecting with alibis. My pulse hammered against my temples, urgency seeping into my veins like adrenaline.

Angela's memory haunted the periphery of my thoughts, a silent siren calling me back to duty. There were answers out there, shrouded in shadows and half-truths, and I would unearth them. For Will. For Angela.

The metal door clanged shut behind me, its echo a dull thud in my chest. My feet found the rhythm of duty as I navigated the sterile corridor, each step an anchor dragging me forward. The deputy at the security checkpoint gave a curt nod, his face an unreadable mask. I returned the gesture without missing a beat.

Outside, the Florida sun was unforgiving, a spotlight on the path laid out before me. I squinted against the glare, shielding my eyes with a hand still trembling from the visit's intensity. The heat wrapped around me, oppressive, as if trying to smother the fire inside. I kept thinking… if it had been me. If I had lost Matt and now was accused of having killed him? The thought was beyond devastating.

"Someone's gotta fight for him," I whispered, the mantra propelling me across the jail's parking lot. Gravel crunched beneath my shoes, a staccato accompaniment to the rapid drumming of my heart. I could taste the bitterness of the task ahead and was worried I would fail, but there was no going back now.

The car door slammed with conviction, sealing me inside. My fingers danced over the steering wheel. The engine roared to life with a twist of the key, a beast awakened and hungry for the hunt.

"Time's ticking," I muttered, throwing the car into gear.

I gunned the accelerator, the vehicle lurching forward like a hound unleashed. There were leads to chase down, witnesses to press, and evidence to reexamine. Each moment was precious, each clue a potential lifeline.

I drove on, relentless.