“What?” he asks.
“The day he died. How do you think he got lured out onto the beach? He hated water,” I say.
“I know, Emma. But we’ve been over this. He had just gone through a really traumatic two years and was finally free. He had a new lease on life and wanted to try all the things he’d avoided for so long,” Dean says.
“Yeah, I remember that’s what we said, but it’s not sitting right with me,” I say.
“Why not?”
I pull myself up, swinging my legs around to fold them under me so I can lean toward him and talk without interrupting Xavier and my father.
“He and Lydia were hitting it off. They had gotten to be friends. She was definitely under the impression it could turn out to be more. There was enough there that he was willing to leave the hospital with her rather than waiting for me or one of the guys from the team the way he was supposed to. So he goes against safety protocols to get discharged and leave with this woman no one knows and who he has been speaking closely with about a huge, very dangerous case in his career, and then he just walks away from her?
“It doesn’t make sense. Why would he leave with her if he was just going to part ways with her pretty much immediately, so he could go off and stand on a beach to confront his hatred of water? Do you see how that doesn’t fit?”
Dean nods. “I mean, yes, that makes sense. I would think if he had this girl he really liked, and he was willing to leave the hospital with her, he would take her with him to the beach.”
“That would be the logical step. Greg tended to in his own head a lot of the time, but even he could be romantic. He wouldn’t be so dedicated to the concept of facing off against the great power of the ocean gods or some shit like that, that he would leave behind a woman he was interested in. Which means he didn’t go out onto that beach just because he wanted to see the water and prove he could deal with it.”
“Someone wanted him out there,” Dean completes my thought.
I nod. “He knew he was supposed to be meeting someone and couldn’t let Lydia be a part of it. But here’s another question—how did nobody notice?”
“What do you mean?” Dean asks.
“DC isn’t exactly a sleepy, quiet town. There are people all over the place, all the time. So, how could he get shot in broad daylight, then lie on the beach for three days without anyone’s noticing? People would have been out on that beach. Someone would have seen it happen, or at least heard the gunshot. And even if no one heard or saw anything in that exact moment, even if we could suspend our disbelief enough to say there was no one anywhere around who witnessed the murder, how did no one find his body in those three days?” I ask.
“Maybe he was kept for that time?” Dean suggests. “Somebody got Greg and held him until he killed him?”
“After everything Greg had just gone through, I really don’t think he would let anyone else grab him like that. And if someone tried, he would put up a fight. There were no defensive wounds on his body. Nothing to show there was a struggle of any kind. Besides, if someone did have him for those three days, why would he or she then bring him out onto the beach to kill him? Greg would have run. It just doesn’t make sense. None of it does.”
“What about the case files?” Dean asks. “You said you wanted to see them because you think there’s something in them that might help you figure it out. Have you made any progress with getting them?”
“No. The last time I spoke with Creagan, he wouldn’t budge. He says I’m not on that task force and he still thinks I’m too close to the whole situation,” I say.
“The way he was too close to the situation with your mother?” Dean asks.
It’s less a question than it is pointing something out to me, and it instantly brings the anger back. I get out my phone and call Creagan.
This time, he relents. I hang up, knowing soon I’ll have the full files and be able to dig deeper to find out what really happened to Greg.
Thirty
“There’s no familial link at all?” I ask Detective Billings.
“No,” he shakes his head. “The DNA provided by Misty does not match the mitochondrial DNA of the fetus, meaning it could not be the child of Misty’s child.”
“Have you informed Misty?” I ask.
“No. I wanted to discuss it with you first,” he says.
“Is that because you are hoping I’ll be the one to tell her?” I ask.
He doesn’t look as though he’s going to come right out and admit that, but he doesn’t dispute it, either.
“You are the one who talked to her about the fetal remains. It seems you have developed a rapport with her, so it might be easier coming from you,” he attempts.
It might seem that telling Misty and John that the stillborn baby found at the elementary school wasn’t genetically connected to Ashley would be easy, welcome news. But it’s not that simple. I’m sure the Stevensons will be relieved to have absolute confirmation Ashley did not give birth. This news, however, means they are still exactly where they have been for the last five years. There’s nothing new, nothing to hang their hopes on.
“I’ll go see them,” I tell him. “In the meantime, I have a suggestion.”
“What is it?” he asks.
“Ask Ashley’s friends Vivian McLemore and Allison Garrett for their DNA to compare with the fetus,” I say.
Misty still cringes when she hears another mention of the remains, but she takes the news with the relief I hoped she would feel. She nods
