Page 60 of Missing White Woman

“Understandable. Well, it’s not like what you see on television,” he said, but that was already very apparent. “We understand how traumatic it is to possibly identify a loved one, and we don’t want to add to that pain. We’ve taken some photos of a few distinguishing marks on the deceased. All you’ll need to do is take a look and let us know if you recognize them. Is that okay?”

I immediately glanced down at the manila folder he’d placed on the table when he came in. I’d barely registered it, but now I couldn’t stop staring. It was like the anxiety had leapt from my brain and landed between the folder’s pages.

“Ms. Wright?” Dr. Diaz tried again.

“That’s okay.”

“Great. I do have to tell you that although we tried not to take any troubling photos, you will see some discoloration. Unfortunately, that’s what happens when a body has been submerged for days.”

I glanced up. “How long?”

Calloway was looking at me as hard as I’d been eyeing the folder.

“How long was he in there?”

“We’re not sure yet,” she said.

But I already knew. Days. Not day. The ME had said days.

This whole time.

Ty’d been dead this entire time. Had he intended to kill himself when he’d left Janelle in the house—us in the house? Or did he just run and then make a split-second decision when he saw the water?

Dr. Diaz spoke again. “Are you okay, Ms. Wright?”

“Yes.” I rubbed my eye.

He slowly opened the folder. The photos were face down. He slid the first one toward me, then flipped it over. The gesture wasn’t dramatic in the slightest—just a flick of the wrist—but I gasped as if he’d made something disappear and ended with a ta-da.

It was a tattoo. Diaz hadn’t been exaggerating. The skin around it was murky and puffed up with a greenish tint. But I recognized the K in the diamond all the same. I’d spent what felt like hours tracing it on Ty’s chest.

I stared hard, not seeing it as it was but how it had been that first night I slept over, feeling how I’d felt then too. How I’d felt every second of every day until this last one.

“That’s his chest,” I finally said. “Left side. It represents his fraternity.”

Dr. Diaz barely nodded, just slid another photo toward me, but I already knew what it was going to be. Ty had a scar on his stomach. I’d been waiting to ask him about it, but now it would just represent how I hadn’t known Ty at all. Not really. We’d never discussed if he wanted kids. And if so, how many. Never discussed what he’d wanted to be when he was younger—or how he’d gotten that mark.

Dr. Diaz turned the photo over and there it was. “That’s him,” I said.

Then I sat back in my chair, more exhausted than when I pushed myself to run an extra two miles on a Saturday.

“Thank you, Ms. Wright.” Dr. Diaz gave Calloway a nod.

I’d done what they wanted, what they expected. It was over.

Adore was the next to speak. “When are you going to announce the case is closed?”

Calloway’s voice was clipped. “When the case is closed.”

Adore quickly glanced back at me before speaking. “He killed himself.”

“We need to do a complete investigation,” Calloway said. “We won’t be sharing any details until we’ve done our due diligence.”

Dr. Diaz was up at that point and had the door open. He waited for Calloway and Adore to walk past as Adore kept on. “But people already know you found him. That he killed himself. You have to say something. Otherwise people are going to be creating all kinds of outlandish theories online.”

Again, she glanced back at me. I had lagged behind. Dr. Diaz didn’t look put out in the slightest, like he wanted me to hurry it up. Instead, he looked kind. Patient. The type of person who was used to seeing grief each and every day. I stopped right when I got next to him, at the door. “That scar. How would Ty have gotten it?”

“Appendectomy.”

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