Page 23 of Till Death Do Us Part

He looked at me in shock. "What are you talking about? I didn't hide anything."

"Then why were you cleaning so much?" I asked again, my voice firm.

He hesitated, then looked down at his hands. "Fine. I guess I was just trying to distract myself from everything that was happening. Rachel's disappearance is really taking a toll on me."

"That’s understandable."

I leaned back in my chair, studying him. His behavior was suspicious, but I still had nothing concrete to tie him to Rachel's disappearance. I decided to push a little harder to see if I could get him to crack.

"John, if you know anything about Rachel's disappearance, now is the time to tell me," I said, my voice firm.

He looked me in the eye, and for a moment, I thought he was ready to confess. But then he looked away, his hands shaking even moreviolently than before.

"I don't know anything; I swear," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Then why are you so nervous, John?" I asked, pressing on. "Why won't you make eye contact with me?"

He shook his head. "I just… I don't know. This whole thing has me on edge. I keep thinking that she left me and won’t come back. It’s all my fault for not treating her right. I know she never forgave me for it, but still. What kind of a mother leaves her children? I’m still hoping and praying that she’ll come home. If not for me, then for the children’s sake. Also, I fear she might have killed herself. That’s my biggest fear right now."

“Why would she do that?” I asked.

“She wasn’t in a good place. She was drinking a lot and often. I had told her she needed to stop if she wanted to keep her children and me around. I might have been too harsh. She was an alcoholic.”

I didn't believe him. Why was this suddenly coming to the surface now? Why hadn’t he mentioned anything about this earlier? When I asked if she was suicidal? It made no sense. It seemed like he was just trying to lead me in other directions. I didn’t like that one bit. But I also knew I couldn't force a confession out of him, at least not yet. I decided to end the interview for now, hoping that I could gather more evidence before confronting him again.

"All right, John. I'll be in touch if I need anything else," I said, standing up from my chair. "Thank you for your time."

As I stood up to leave, John looked up at me with a desperate expression.

"Please, Detective. You have to find her. Rachel means everything to me," he said, his voice breaking.

I nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy for him but still unsure about his sincerity. It felt forced.

"We'll do everything we can, John. We won't stop until we find her."

He nodded, his hands still shaking. As I left the living room, I paused by the wall close to the door. It had been scrubbed recently, I could tell, as the paint was faded in an area. It had gotten a serious scrubbing. I made a mental note of it, then left.

I drove to the station and couldn't shake the feeling that he was guilty. But of what? Had he killed his wife? Or was she still out there?

PartIII

THREE DAYS LATER

Chapter17

Lena Watson hated going to her storage unit. It was dark and dingy, and the smell of mildew clung to the air like a ghost that refused to move on. She had tried her best to keep the place organized, but the narrow aisles between the units and the thick layer of dust still made her feel uneasy whenever she ventured there. But today, she needed something from her unit, so she reluctantly made the trip. She parked in front of the door and then sighed deeply. She hadn't been there to see her things since her mother died. She didn't know what to do with her stuff, but she couldn't bear the thought of getting rid of it either. She took a deep breath, then pushed open the door to her unit.

As she stepped inside, Lena felt a familiar sense of dread wash over her. The space was smaller than she remembered, and everything seemed to be coated in a thick layer of dust. She coughed as she kicked up some of the debris, then made her way to the back corner where her mother's things were stored. The smell hit her hard. It was bad. She coughed and waved at the air, trying to clear the dust that threatened to choke her. Her eyes flicked around the space, taking in the familiar boxes and trinkets she had stored away.

Lena's eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she could see the outlines of boxes and furniture scattered around the unit. She started to rummage through the boxes, her hands shaking as she went through each item, memories flooding back to her. She found herself lost in the past until she felt something brush against her leg.

She jumped back, her heart racing, until she realized it was just a stray cat that had snuck into her unit. It was skinny and dirty with matted fur, but it still managed to purr as it rubbed against her legs. There were a ton of them living in the area. The old woman who lived in a van in the parking lot always fed them. The manager let her live there since she was crazy as a bat, they said. She had nowhere else to go and lived off what the church folks next door gave to her, and she gave most of it to the cats.

As Lena rummaged through her unit, she again noticed a foul smell. She tried to ignore it, but it lingered and made her feel like gagging. She walked outside, trying to follow the smell, then realized it was coming from the unit next to hers. It was so bad that she had to cover her nose with her shirt. And there was something liquid seeping out from underneath the unit’s roll-up door. The smell from it made her eyes water and her nose burn. Lena tried to hold her breath as she approached the unit next to hers. She could feel her heart pounding as she stared at the brown door. The stench hit her like a brick wall, making her gag and choke. She covered her mouth and nose with her hand and tried to steady her breathing.

Lena had an overwhelming urge to investigate. She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't help herself. Curiosity had always been her weakness. She walked over to the unit and peeked through the small opening at the bottom of the garage door, using her phone as a flashlight. She immediately regretted it. The smell was nearly unbearable. But that wasn't the worst of it. Lena's eyes locked onto a small hand sticking out from underneath a black tarp.

It was pale and lifeless.

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