Loves Me Not

THIRTY SIX

AFTER
DETECTIVE BRETT PORTER

The only thought that's been on my mind since leaving the coroner's office is this: Who killed Catalaina Kittridge? And why?

It came as a shock to me. I don't know what I was expecting. I drew my own conclusions from lack of evidence on top of clues that were leading to me to believe one thing when in reality, it was the exact opposite. I assumed she stashed some money away, packed a bag, and ran off. And usually I'm never wrong. But boy was I wrong.

Now the one thing that's haunting me is her face. Looking at her dead body on that table; blue, bloated, and unrecognizable. That's not the same girl whose face stared at me from the television screen, her bright green eyes once full of life. No, of course it's not. Because that girl is long gone. She was murdered. And what remains is a decaying corpse.

What's clear is that this was no accident. Catalaina didn't just fall into the water and drown. She was summoned from her bed that night for a reason. To meet with somebody or to do something of importance. And then they killed her.

Jodie says the body has been decaying for over a week, which means that Catalaina wasn't abducted or taken somewhere and then killed at a later time. It means that she most likely died the night that she disappeared. We're waiting on the tox-screen and God only knows how long that will take to come in.

We need to keep this as contained from the press as we possibly can. One wrong detail leaks, and this investigation is tainted. And if Catalaina's killer is out there watching, then we need to be careful what is said in the media.

First thing's first: alerting Ben and the family. I've had to break this news to countless people over my years as a detective and it never gets easier.

I decide to visit Ben first. I was debating whether or not to call Ben and the parents into the station and inform them all together. It would mean I'd only have to say it once. She's dead. But I don't want them getting paranoid before they even come in. So it looks like I'm making two house calls. Conversely, this might be more beneficial in terms of finding her killer. Because the moment that Catalaina's body was found, this officially became a homicide investigation. And the prime – and only – suspect thus far, is Ben Summers. This will give me some one-on-one time with him to really gauge his reaction, study his emotions.

I call him ahead of time and tell him I'm stopping by. He's used to this by now, me just dropping in, sometimes unannounced. I don't think he minds. If anything, he appreciates the constant updates on the case, even if it does involve me questioning him numerous times each visit.

He opens the door and lets me inside. Inadvertently, the atmosphere has shifted. This news that I bear has suddenly changed everything. Once I say the words aloud, nothing will ever be the same again.

I look at the staircase – the staircase she will never walk down again. I glance around at the living room, the kitchen. All of these mundane spaces that she once inhabited will be changed forever. She will never experience any of it again. That's the real tragedy here. That one moment a person can exist, and then the next, they no longer do.

"Can we sit?" I say to him.
He nods and we go into the living room. His sister – Erin – is in there, sweeping the rug, tidying up the place.
"Oh, hello, Detective," she says once she sees me.
"How are you?" I ask her.
"I'm alright. Any updates?"
"That's actually why I'm here," I say. I stand there, staring at them both. I had planned on having Ben sit down, but it's too late for that now. It would be too obvious if I asked him to have a seat. He'd know in an instant.
So instead, I clear my throat and prepare for the worst. "I have some bad news, I'm afraid."
I watch as his facial expression falters slightly. Nothing too obvious, but a very subtle look of anticipation mixed with fear.
I take in a breath. "We've found a body. It was pulled from the harbor yesterday. We didn't get the results until the autopsy was completed. But now we know," I pause, the moment they're waiting for. "It's Catalaina."
"What?" he says, as though the words aren't clear.
"Are you sure?" Erin asks, standing there, frozen.
"We're sure," I say. "DNA was a match."
"No," Ben says, shaking his head. "No, it can't be. They're wrong. She's not dead. She can't be."
And then I watch as he crumbles and breaks in front of me.

Eventually I excuse myself and leave the two of them alone, Erin responsible to pick up the pieces.

Telling the parents isn't any easier. It's actually much harder. These are the two people that created her. This woman carried Catalaina in her stomach for nine months. She went through hours of labor and held her tiny body in her arms. They watched her grow, take her first steps, say her first words, attend her first day of school. They raised this child into a woman and watched her bloom for twenty-seven years. And now she's gone, taken away from them far too soon. Just two months shy of the wedding. They won't even get to see her walk down the aisle. Won't get the chance to hear the news of a pregnancy. Won't get to watch their only daughter grow and raise a family of her own.

The only thing I can do for them now – if it's any consolation to them – is to find who did this to her.