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Chapter Thirty-Two

KAT

“Have you spoken to the realtor yet?” Samantha asks, stabbing her fork into her salad.

“She came by this morning to take photos and said the listing will go up next week.”

“The apartment below us just went up for sale. You should look at it.” A happy smile dances on her lips.

“Maybe I will.” I pick up a French fry from my plate.

“Any idea when you’re coming back to work?” she asks.

“All I know is that I’m not ready yet.”

We finish lunch and hug each other when we leave the restaurant.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Samantha says, climbing into a cab.

I’m in Chelsea. Samantha wanted to meet at her favorite restaurant for lunch since Travis doesn’t like it and never takes her there. I walk down the street, my feet crunching through the blanket of soft, powdery snow that has settled on the ground. The air is frigid, sending shivers down my spine as I pull my coat tighter around me. I pass by the art gallery where Oliver and I first met. I stop and stare through the window. Mallory, the owner, sees me and waves. Now, I feel obligated to step inside.

“Oh my gosh, Kat.” Mallory hugs me. “How are you? I’m so sorry about Oliver.”

“Thanks.” I manage a fake smile. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Did Oliver ever come in here with another woman?”

Her brows furrowed. “No. Not that I ever saw. Why?”

“I was just wondering. I’m going to take a look around.”

I study the displays in the gallery, some new art pieces, some old. Then I see it—that painting—Eyes Without a Face. My heart jackhammers in my chest as I stare at it.

“Mallory?” I call out, and she walks over. “You have another one of these?” I point to the painting.

“What do you mean?” Her head cocks. “You gave it back to us.”

My stomach twists. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. Kat, are you okay?” She rests her hand on my shoulder.

“I have to go.” I run out of the gallery and slip on the ice on the sidewalk. Thankfully, I was able to catch myself before hitting the ground.

My phone rings. With shaking hands, I manage to fish it out of my purse. It’s Detective Walker.

“Hello.”

“Katherine, it’s Detective Walker. I need you to come down to the station.”

“Why?”

“I have some more questions for you. Can you come now? I can send a car to pick you up?”

“I’m in Chelsea. I’ll grab a cab and head over there.”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting. ”

I toss my phone back in my purse and hold my hand up for a cab. One stops, and I climb inside. As I sit in the back on the way to the precinct, I think about what Mallory told me about the painting. I distinctly remember taking that painting out to the curb on trash day.

My heart beats rapidly, and the pain in my belly worsens when the driver pulls up to the precinct. I walk in and find Detective Walker. She takes me to a room and tells me she’ll be right back. I sit in the plastic chair, my hands resting on the metal table. I fidget with my fingers as my eyes shift nervously around the sterile walls of the interrogation room. What questions does she have now? I don’t know anything.

The door opens. Detective Walker steps in, sets a bottle of water in front of me, and sits down.

“You know, Katherine. Every day, I learn something new about you—things you should have mentioned but failed to.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Detective Walker.”

“That you were adopted by Bradley and Caroline Yearns when you were five.”

My eyes widen in shock and disbelief, and my hands begin to shake. “What are you talking about? Bradley and Caroline are my birth parents.”

Detective Walker studies me momentarily.

“No, Katherine. They’re not. They adopted you when you were five because your birth mother was sent to prison for murdering your father.”

I place my hands over my ears. I don’t want to hear anymore. “Stop it! You’re wrong. They would never lie to me.”

“Your birth mother murdered your father in cold blood with you in the room. She found out he had been having an affair for twenty-two months, so she stabbed him twenty-two times. When the police arrived, they found you crouched in the corner of the room next to a bookcase. The Yearns took you in as foster care but then they wanted to adopt you. After a year, it was finalized.”

“I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, detective, but I’m out!” I kick the chair back as my fists slam on the table.

“You killed those men, Katherine. Admit it.”

“I didn’t kill anyone! Give me a polygraph. I can prove it. I can prove it.”

“Maybe you should contact your lawyer first,” she says.

“I don’t need a lawyer. I didn’t do anything. Please, Detective Walker, give me a polygraph test.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

She leads me to another sterile room. I’m strapped to a chair with electrodes attached to my fingers and chest. The technician sits across from me and fiddles with the machine.

“Yes and no answers only,” he says.

I nod.

“Are you an attorney?”

“Yes.”

“Is your current name Katherine Tate?”

“Yes.”

“Was your previous married name Katherine Grisham?”

“Yes.”

“Are your birth parents named Burton and Caroline Yearns?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know you were adopted at the age of five?”

“No.”

He studies the machine.

“Did you watch your mother murder your father?”

“No.”

“Did you murder your husbands and those other men?”

“No.”

He studies the machine again.

“Do you feel like someone is always following and watching you?”

“Yes.”