Page 43 of The Hand that Frays

I’ve just met my next victim.

And she’s formidable.

Lylaand I remain in the closet for hours after Carl and Ada clear out, only to ensure that they’re gone before we leave the residence.

Neither of us speaks until we’re back in the hotel room.

Lyla sits on the edge of the bed, dropping the file we took from Carl's office next to her.

I’m pacing before her as my mind tries to work over the truth of what’s going on.

“He’s her father, right?” I ask her.

“Yeah… I mean, I think so.”

“Biologically?”

She stands, sidestepping me to get to her computer. She shakes her Apple mouse and then works her fingers over the keys.

“Shit,” she mutters under her breath, and it stops me in my tracks.

“He’s not their father.”

“Their? Did he father any of the three?”

Lyla turns in the chair. “Jack. He’s only Jack’s father, the youngest son. Cecily’s father isn’t listed, and Ada’s father is listed as one,” she turns back to read the name on the screen again, “Edward Dashall.”

“He said he was in the room when she was born. He called her his daughter,” I remind her.

She shrugs. “I mean, he could’ve been in the room. Carl and Anne were married six months before Ada’s birth. She was likely already pregnant with Ada, and Carl assumed responsibility for the girl.”

“Do we think she knows?” I ask her.

She shrugs. “We’d have to tie the girl up and question her to find out what’s running through her sick head.”

I don’t immediately toss the idea out as I mull over all the information.

I thought London would be a fun, easy trip away for Lyla and me. We’d come here, vacation, fuck like rabbits, kill Anne Hatt, and go home.

It seems, however, that this case is one more entangled than I’ve ever worked.

Half of me wants to walk away and leave the Hatts to their depraved lives. The other half of me has Cecily’s tear-filled eyes floating through my mind and wants to kill the three of them, Carl, Ada, and Anne, and be done with it.

Give the fucking girl some peace.

“I don’t know how we missed it,” Lyla says. “I missed it, more like.”

“Stupid girl, these people are more fucked up thaneven you and me, don’t beat yourself up about it. We’ll get to the root of it. Is there any more in Carl’s journaling to tell us where along the line Ada became his lover?”

Lyla wanders over and grabs the file, sitting on the edge of the bed. She opens it and begins sifting through paper after paper.

“Maybe…” she finally says.

I sit beside her on the end of the bed, looking over her shoulder.

Ada walked in on me today. When I turned around from dosing the children’s food, she stood at the door’s threshold. I don’t know what she saw. She acted as if nothing was amiss, but what if she saw me? She’s such a strange little girl. I don’t know if she’ll tell, but I know she suspects something is happening because she asked me once why all the kids are always sick.

It’s not as if I do it for Anne. I don’t know if Anne even realizes I’m why her children need her so much. Some days, it feels like I’m doing my wife a disservice because she looks so tired and browbeaten. But she’s the one who said once they’re grown, none of them will need her. She worried they wouldn’t think she was a good mum, but how can they not now? She’s always beside them, nursing them back to health and taking them to the doctor when I slip too much chemical in their food.

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