Brynn had run out of diapers in her diaper bag; she needed to get home, but it would have to wait until she went to the police station.
Ginny called her as she drove there.
“Brynn,” she said, “I just heard. Oh my God. Are you okay?”
“I mean, no,” Brynn said. “I don’t know what I am right now. I don’t know what to do.”
Ginny breathed into the phone. “I’m so sorry. Do you want me to come over?”
“No, thanks, or … I don’t know. Maybe.” Brynn still hadn’t processed the fact that Ross wouldn’t be coming home tonight. That he might not ever come home again. “I’m going to the station now to get some answers.”
“Brynn,” Ginny said, “are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Why wouldn’t it be? I need to know what the hell is going on.”
“Right. Just be careful.”
Ginny promised Brynn that she’d let Annie and Marcus know she was okay. They’d all been worried, and just as shocked as her.
As Brynn pulled into the station, she was hopeful that somehow, though she knew it was probably impossible, she might see Ross. Or at least get to talk to him somehow. Henry and Margaux had told her that Ross was still at the station, not in the jail. He would stay there until they finished questioning him, but his lawyer hadn’t arrived yet. So, there was still a chance she could see him, Brynn thought. She had to see him. He’d been taken away too quickly, before she could even respond to what was happening. She needed answers. She needed to know what the orange sun was. She needed to know where to look. She needed to know what evidence the police had to justify arresting Ross for murder in the first place. She needed to know how they had gotten here, and how she was going to get them out.
She expected to see local reporters outside the station, trading information and making calls. But it was quiet. Serene, even. The sun was still high; it wouldn’t set for a few more hours.
And then she saw someone standing on the station steps, smoking.
It was Jacob Hammers.
He was taking a drag on a cigarette and staring at his phone. He wore his uniform.
Brynn jumped out of the car and grabbed Lucas in his car seat.
“Hey,” she said.
Jacob immediately put his phone in his pocket. He looked like he’d been caught. He took a few seconds to process who Brynn was, and when he did, he dropped his cigarette and smashed it with his foot like he was trying to squash the life out of it. But then he glared at her.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice came out like a wheeze. Brynn wondered if he usually smoked.
Compared to his father, whom Brynn had seen that morning, Jacob looked like he was playing dress-up. His uniform was white and wrinkled, and the fabric looked cheap and lightweight. Sweat stains circled out from his armpits. Brynn tried to imagine what Jacob and Cecelia’s relationship had been like, and whether he was capable of doing something like what Ross had been accused of.
“Ross didn’t do this,” Brynn said, instinctively. “I’m, I’m so sorry for your loss, but this is a big misunderstanding.” Brynn had so many questions for Jacob, but she couldn’t ask them, not right now, maybe not ever. But why wasn’t he the one arrested? What was his alibi? Brynn was a writer; she knew that it was almost always the husband or boyfriend. So where was Jacob last night and why was he immediately off the hook? If he wasn’t guilty, then what did he know? “I mean, they haven’t even told us how they know she was murdered. And for all I know, you could have killed Cecelia,” she blurted, unable to stop herself. “Or Mauricio, who I’m sure you’ve heard is missing. But not Ross, of all people.”
Jacob didn’t respond. Brynn braced herself. She knew that she shouldn’t have said what she’d just said, but she was so angry, and she had no one else to talk to, no one who was telling her anything. Jacob took a deep breath and looked off toward the cemetery.
“There’s a lot you don’t know,” he said. His voice was stronger now, but he still seemed like a little boy to Brynn. “But to be clear, I loved Cecelia and never would have hurt her.”
Jacob started to walk away toward his car in the parking lot in back.
“Wait,” Brynn said, walking after him. She was carrying Lucas in his car seat. She couldn’t keep up. “Please, just talk to me for a second.”
Jacob stopped. He looked around and then stepped closer to her. So close that she could smell the lingering scent of tobacco and see the stubble on his chin.
“If I were you,” he said, “I wouldn’t believe everything the Nelsons say. Even your husband.” His voice cracked a little, and for a moment Brynn thought that he might cry.
“But what about Mauricio?” Brynn asked. “How do you explain him being missing now?”
Jacob snorted. “You don’t get it.”
He jumped into his car before she could ask him anything else. Brynn was left there dumbfounded.
She watched him drive away in his gray Tacoma, the same truck nearly all men on Martha’s Vineyard seemed to drive. It was the same shade of gray as Ross’s truck, though Ross’s was much bigger and an entirely different make and model. Still, she thought, maybe Jacob had killed Cecelia and then he and Ross had been mistaken for each other on the road. Maybe Pete was covering everything up to protect his son, and Ross was just an easy target. Brynn wondered what lengths she would go to for Lucas. Would she blame someone else for something terrible he’d done? She didn’t think she would. But she couldn’t be sure.
She didn’t want to believe that Jacob was telling her the truth—that he’d never hurt Cecelia. And yet, his sadness seemed so sincere. When she looked at him, she’d seen a heartbroken young man.
Brynn walked up the stairs and into the station, carrying Lucas with her. The station was not as quiet as the street outside. Inside, phones were ringing, printers were beeping, and people were briskly walking in and out of offices, their lips and expressions tight.
Brynn approached the receptionist, who looked up at her with a surprisingly helpful smile. The smile of someone who didn’t know who Brynn was.
“Hi, I need to see Ross Nelson. He’s my husband, he’s…”
The receptionist interjected, “Oh. You can’t see him.”
“I know, but I just need a minute,” Brynn tried to argue.
“Brynn,” a voice said from down the hallway. Brynn turned and saw Pete. “Why don’t you come into my office?”
Brynn walked toward Pete, who held his door open for her. She felt naked and exposed as she went, as if she were the one guilty of murder.
Pete shut the door behind her. His office was warm and cozy, full of MV Sharks memorabilia and family photos. She sat down in the chair across from his, and placed Lucas on the floor beside her.
“I can’t stay long,” she said, “and I’m sorry for just showing up. I really just didn’t know what else to do. No one is telling me anything, and I … I just am so confused. I wanted to see my husband. This has to be a mistake. It absolutely has to be.” She paused. “Ross was home last night. With me. With his family.”
She hadn’t planned to say those words. They’d just flown out of her mouth. And the moment they did, she regretted it. Not because they were a lie, but because she wasn’t sure that they weren’t a lie. She didn’t have proof of anything. But somehow, she knew that Ross was innocent. Or, at least, she wanted to believe that he was. She had to believe that he was.
“Look, I know how hard this must be. A total shock,” Pete said. He rested his hands on his desk and leaned forward. “Unfortunately, I can’t tell you much. But what I can tell you is that we have some evidence that points very directly to Ross. I couldn’t believe it myself. But we have to let the evidence guide us. And, in this case … it’s pretty clear.”
“What kind of evidence?” Brynn asked. It would all come out sooner or later, anyway, she knew. Why couldn’t he just tell her now?
“You know I can’t tell you that,” he said. “We’re still putting all the pieces together. But we’ll know more soon.” Pete stood up, signaling that their conversation was over. “I hope you’ll be staying with Henry and Margaux. It’s not a good idea for you and the baby to be alone right now.”
Though he was right—that Brynn didn’t really want to be alone right now, not at all—it was a strange thing for him to say to her. Brynn felt a ripple of fear go up her spine, as if what he’d said had been a threat.
“Yes, I won’t be alone,” she said. “Thank you for your time, Chief. I guess … I’ll come back when I’m allowed to see him. When will that be?”
“Not sure right now. But my officers will keep you informed.” He gestured toward the door. “And Brynn,” he added, “you’re going to need to come back in for questioning, you know. Tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she said. She swallowed. She wondered if what she had just told Pete—about Ross having been home last night with her—would be recorded.
Brynn hurried out of there as fast as she could. Many times she’d written characters who had found themselves entangled in a mystery and been frustrated by the lack of police transparency. But she’d been privileged to have never experienced that herself. It was maddening, having no power whatsoever, and being told absolutely nothing.
She felt like an idiot, having shown up there with no plan. What had she expected would happen? There was nothing she could do. She didn’t know where to start figuring out what was really going on or who to trust. And now she had to get a lawyer.
Brynn kept her eyes ahead of her on the way out, but as she briskly walked down the hallway toward the exit, something caught her eye. In one of the conference rooms, she saw a man sitting, being questioned by a police officer. It was Mauricio. He wasn’t missing. Not anymore.
He looked up at her, and they locked eyes just for a moment. His eyes were red, like he’d been crying. But Brynn couldn’t tell if they were tears of sorrow, or tears of guilt.
Suddenly, Brynn remembered all the countless times that she’d been at the club with Ross and had seen him interact with Mauricio. Had they been secretive with each other? Once, Mauricio had asked Ross to go look at the roof outside to see if he thought it needed repairs. Brynn had seen them through the patio doors, but she couldn’t hear their conversation. Maybe there had been an entire dialogue between them that day—and all the others—to which she’d been oblivious.
Because if Ross was still in jail, and now Mauricio was being questioned, too, did that mean that they’d somehow been involved in something together?
Brynn got into her car, her heart rate accelerating. She needed to breathe.
There was no one she could talk to who could give her answers. Her only hope now was to find the orange sun.