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Several minutes later, I was beginning to think Dominic wasn’t coming back to finish our conversation. I decided I’d wait another few minutes, then call out to him. If he didn’t respond, I’d leave a note and show myself out.

Another few minutes passed, and to my surprise, I heard a door crack open. Dominic returned to the kitchen, still in his robe and looking even worse than before. He’d returned without the bottle of rum. I wondered where it was and how much he’d drunk, though I wasn’t about to question him about it.

The man was grieving.

If a bottle of rum helped him get through the day, who was I to judge?

“Sorry for the wait,” he said, sliding back into the chair. “I wanted to talk to my daughter, tell her I love her.”

“I understand. You’re a good father.”

“I don’t know about that, but thank you.”

“Are you ready to continue our conversation?”

“I am. And hey, you can ask me anything, all right?”

Ask him anything?

What happened to the standoffish guy I’d met when I arrived, the one who wasn’t interested in having a conversation?

Liquid courage, perhaps.

“When I first got here, you didn’t want to talk,” I said. “Now it seems you do, and while I appreciate it, I guess I’m questioning why you changed your mind?”

“Let’s just say I had a change of heart.”

A change of heart.

Even if he’d indulged in a fair amount of liquid courage, it worried me and didn’t make sense. Something was off. I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

“I want to keep going,” I said. “I’ve learned so much about Noelle from our conversation today. But I also know the toll it must be taking on you.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about me. All I ask is one thing—get all your questions out, right here, right now. Deal?”

“Deal.”

I’d been mulling a few over during our break.

“What happened after Noelle told the police about Gabe?” I asked.

“He was arrested and convicted of the crimes he’d committed against her. I should also tell you that during the trial another teen came forward, a girl he’d dated the year before. He’d assaulted her once, slapped her across the face, but she wasn’t raped.”

“Did the girl say what happened?”

“Same reason. He was pressuring her for sex.”

And yet, he hadn’t forced himself on her the way he had with Noelle, which told me his violent temper had escalated from one woman to the next.

“What sentence did Gabe receive at trial?” I asked.

Dominic yawned, covering his mouth as he said, “He was supposed to be locked up for eight years, but he was out in six—good behavior and all that bull crap. No idea what happened to him after he was released. Haven’t seen him since he got out.”

“Did Gabe ever try to contact Noelle?”

“Not in person. He wrote her a letter while he was in prison, though. It was full of apologies, telling her he still loved her, and he was committed to getting the therapy he needed so he wouldn’t ever do what he did to her to another woman again. I thought it was nonsense, that he’d sent the letter to make himself look apologetic so he could convince everyone he’d changed. Guys like Gabe, they don’t change.”

“What did he have to say for himself at the trial?”

“I expected him to come in all full of himself, denying what he’d done. He surprised me when he did the opposite. He admitted it, all of it, and said he regretted the assault and the rape. He acted like he didn’t know what came over him, like he’d been possessed or something.”

“Was he going for an insanity plea?”

“You’d think so, but he said he wanted to be locked up for what he’d done. He also said being behind bars would give him the opportunity to change his ways and not hurt anyone else.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Was it a ploy to get a reduced sentence?

If so, it had worked.

I wondered where Gabe was now, and what he’d done with his life after getting out of prison. I made a mental note to find him and see what he was up to nowadays. And I wanted to verify he had no involvement in Noelle’s murder.

“I appreciate you sharing Noelle’s story with me,” I said. “Do the police know about it?”

“I thought about telling them—” he shrugged, “—but in a way, it felt like I’d be betraying her if I did. Feels like I’m betraying her now, telling you.”

“If it helps me to find out who killed her and why, it will all be worth it.”

“Yeah, well ... I’m assuming we’re done, with that subject, anyway. What other questions do you have?”

I considered what I hadn’t asked yet.

“Was there anyone in Noelle’s recent life who had a problem with her, anyone who would have wanted to harm her?” I asked.

“I’ve thought a lot about that in the past week. The police asked me the same thing. Truth is, I can’t think of a single person, or even why anyone would do what they did to her. I mean, sure, there’s what happened in the past, and I considered Gabe might be involved. Thought about finding him, but right now, it wouldn’t be a good idea. My head’s not on straight. If I thought he did it, I don’t know if I could control myself ...”

“Leave Gabe to me. I’ll find him, and I’ll talk to him. If he had anything to do with her death, he’ll pay for what he’s done.”

“I’m holding you to it.”

I thought back to what he’d said about Noelle’s time at the women’s center. “I was wondering ... did Noelle ever share the story about what happened to her with any of the women at the center?”

Dominic let out a long sigh. “From time to time, but I don’t know who she told and who she didn’t. It wasn’t something she liked talking about. Every time she did, it took a toll on her.”

I nodded, waited for him to continue.

“I believe it was because she never moved past it, not all the way. Talking about it triggered her, and she knew it. But if she felt she could reach a woman who wouldn’t have otherwise spoken out about what she was going through, Noelle used her story to give them the confidence they needed to let it all out.”

“What happened when a woman came to the center and confessed their abusive experiences?”

“If Noelle thought there was a chance she could convince them to contact the police, she’d try her best to talk them through it.”

I wondered how many cases the police had been involved in, how many men received jail time, or worse, and how many knew of Noelle’s direct involvement.

“Did you ever worry that Noelle’s work at the center could blow back on her in some way?” I asked.

He folded his arms, leaning back in the chair. “I’ll tell you something I didn’t tell you before, something most people don’t know. Noelle didn’t just volunteer at the center. She founded it. I offered to open the center because I knew how much it meant to her, but my support came with a few rules.”

“What were your rules?”

“For starters, she had to use a different name. The center was named the Ophelia Albrecht Women’s Center. Ophelia was Noelle’s grandmother’s name, and Albrecht was my grandmother’s maiden name.”

“Are you saying the women who came to the center thought your wife’s name was Ophelia Albrecht?”

“That’s what I am saying, yes.”

Clever.

“What about when the women went to the police?” I asked. “I imagine Noelle sat in on some of those conversations. I’m sure some of the women would have wanted her there for support.”

“You’re right—she did go to some of those police meetings. They knew about the alias. They understood why it was necessary, and they praised us for it.”

If Noelle had been working with the police at the San Luis Obispo Police Department, Foley and Whitlock would have worked with her, which meant they would have known about Noelle’s background when they discovered she’d been murdered. Yet neither of them had said anything to me, making me believe that even though she lived in the county, it was possible the women’s center was outside of it.

“Where is the center located?” I asked

“Santa Maria.”

Santa Maria was about an hour’s drive from Cambria, and just as I’d suspected, it was in a different county, Santa Barbara County.

“Why set up the center in Santa Maria and not closer to home?” I asked. “An hour’s drive isn’t bad, but it’s still a bit of one.”

“Santa Maria is where we got engaged.”

“I see. The city had a special meaning to you both.”

“It also has a population of over four hundred thousand people. Half of those people are women.”

An interesting point, though I felt I’d taken the conversation about Noelle and the center as far as I could—for now.

“What other hobbies or things was your wife involved in?” I asked.

“Tennis. She loved it, played since she was fourteen.” He paused, then added, “I want to show you something.”

He excused himself, and I watched him walk to the living room, grabbing a gold frame off the mantel. He brought it back and handed it to me.

The photo was of a younger woman, around eighteen, I guessed. There was no mistaking the woman was Noelle. In her hands was a trophy. From the looks of it, she’d won first place, but that wasn’t all I noticed. Though she was smiling, there was something haunting in her eyes. Perhaps the aftermath of the trauma she’d been through with Gabe. In the background, I noticed a younger version of Dominic, smiling and staring at Noelle like he was so proud, her biggest supporter.

If what he had said about their relationship was true, I couldn’t imagine the hurt he was experiencing now or how hard it would be for him to get through such a loss.

“Did Noelle play tennis throughout her adult life?” I asked.

“She did, except for the first several months after our daughter was born.”

I handed the picture back to him, and he stared at it for a time, rubbing a thumb over Noelle’s face. Then he raised the frame over his head and did something unexpected. He hurled it across the room, the glass shattering as it hit the wall, spitting shards all over the wood floor.

The tears returned, and he leaned over the counter, bowing his head.

“I’m so sorry, Dominic,” I said. “Maybe you need to get some rest. If this is too much, I understand. I know you wanted to get all of this out in one visit, but I don’t feel like you’re up to continuing right now.”

“It’s just ... she was my entire life. Don’t get me wrong, I love our daughter, but our daughter is a part of her. I can’t look at her without seeing Noelle. She’s her spitting image and has been ever since the day she was born.”

“It might be too much to process right now, but time has a way of helping you heal. I’m not saying the pain will ever be gone. It won’t. I’m saying pain goes through phases.”

“What would you know about losing the love of your life?”

“Nothing, but I know a hell of a lot about losing a father way too soon—and a daughter.”

“You lost a daughter?”

“I did.”

“How old?”

I paused, then, “She didn’t live long enough to start kindergarten.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“I take it one day at a time, and I try to focus on the positive things in my life, just like you can focus on the positive things in yours—including your daughter.”

He was sobbing now.

“It’s not the same!” he shouted. “And I’m not you! I can’t just push it down, pretend everything is going to be okay.”

I didn’t push it down.

And I never pretended everything was okay.

Still, I remained silent.

If he needed to lash out at someone, he could lash out at me.

I remained silent because I wanted him to feel in control of the narrative. But as the moments ticked by, it seemed he was slipping further away from me and into his own suffering. The tears poured out of him now, like a hazy sky bursting open with a downpour of torrential rain.

He wiped his eyes with a hand and said, “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did just now. I know you’re trying to help.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Dominic.”

“I thought I could, but I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. Excuse me.”

He turned and took off down the hall. I thought he was going for more rum at first, but then, from down the hall, I heard eleven of the worst words I’d ever hear, “Tell my daughter I love her, and tell her, I’m sorry.”

I shot up, running down the hall toward him.

But I was too late.

I heard a distinct click, a familiar click.

And then ... boom .