Chapter 3 - Emily’s Voice
Police obtained a warrant for a full forensic download of Patricia’s phone.
The file labeled EMILY was three minutes and forty-one seconds.
I was not allowed to hear the entire thing immediately.
That was probably good.
At 3:12 the next afternoon, Detective Donovan met me with an assistant district attorney named Laura Pierce.
Ava and Lucas were still hospitalized overnight for observation.
Lucas’s labs were improving.
Ava’s bruises were documented.
Neither had fractures.
Both were expected to recover physically.
I wanted that sentence repeated every hour.
Expected to recover.
Laura sat opposite me.
“We reopened the circumstances surrounding Emily’s death this morning.”
I stared.
“Because of recording?”
“Because of recording, Patricia’s statements, your mother’s inconsistent account, and prior medical findings.”
“Was Emily murdered?”
“We don't know yet.”
That restraint irritated me.
It also made me trust her.
“What does recording say?”
Laura looked at Claire.
Claire opened transcript.
“Patricia's voice is identifiable preliminarily. We’ll authenticate formally.”
Then she read.
Patricia:
Beg all you want, Emily. Nobody is going to stop me from taking your husband.
Emily:
Ethan doesn't want you.
Patricia:
He will.
Then a pause.
Emily coughing.
Emily:
What did you put in that?
Patricia:
Enough.
I stood.
Laura raised hand.
“Ethan.”
“Enough what?”
“We do not know from audio.”
“Keep reading.”
Then another voice.
Female.
Older.
Helen.
Mom:
Patricia, you said she'd only get sick.
My body turned cold.
Patricia:
Then stop panicking and help me.
Mom:
This is too far.
Emily:
Helen?
Then scraping.
A chair.
Emily:
You knew?
Mom:
Emily, sit down.
Patricia:
Don't touch the phone.
Recording ended thirty seconds later after movement and a hard impact sound.
No confession to murder.
No poison named.
No operational detail.
But there were three women in kitchen.
My dead wife.
My second wife.
My mother.
I gripped table.
“Why would Patricia record this?”
Claire said:
“We don't know.”
Laura added:
“Possibly leverage. Possibly accidental. Possibly intentional preservation for another reason. We do not speculate yet.”
I did.
I speculated enough for everyone.
My mother helped kill my wife.
Then covered.
Then pushed me toward Patricia.
I wanted to drive to Helen’s house.
Laura said:
“Don't.”
I looked up.
“We are requesting search authority.”
“She's my mother.”
“That doesn't make confrontation safer or better for case.”
I sat.
Then Claire asked me about Emily’s relationship with Helen.
“Bad?”
“Not always.”
Emily and Mom had friction.
Boundaries.
Mom dropped by without calling.
Criticized daycare.
Thought Emily worked too much.
Emily was an art teacher at Cedar Ridge High.
After Lucas was born, she reduced hours.
Helen still called her selfish.
I thought it was ordinary mother-in-law tension.
Emily once told me:
“Your mom doesn’t hear no unless it comes from you.”
I promised to handle.
Then did nothing consistently.
That sentence returned like a knife.
“What about Patricia?” Claire asked.
“Emily loved her.”
“Near end?”
I hesitated.
“They were fighting.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Actually I knew partial.
Three weeks before Emily died, she told me Patricia had become intrusive.
“She keeps showing up.”
I said:
“She’s your best friend.”
Emily:
“She was.”
I was exhausted.
Lucas teething.
Work chaos.
I told her:
“Then tell her you need space.”
Emily laughed bitterly.
“I have.”
I did not ask more.
Now Claire wrote every failure.
Good.
Then hospital social worker called.
Ava wanted me.
I went.
She was coloring.
Lucas asleep.
She looked up.
“Is Grandma coming?”
Helen.
“No.”
Her face relaxed.
That hurt.
“Were you scared of Grandma?”
Ava shook head.
“Not like Patricia.”
“Did Grandma know Patricia was mean?”
She colored harder.
“She said Patricia was learning.”
“What does that mean?”
“Grandma said I have to help new moms.”
I closed eyes.
Helen had seen something.
Maybe not the laundry room.
But enough.
Then Ava said:
“Grandma came Tuesday.”
My eyes opened.
During three-day confinement.
“Here?”
“At house.”
“What happened?”
“She talked to Patricia by door.”
“Did she see you?”
“I yelled.”
“What did Grandma do?”
Ava’s crayon stopped.
“She said, ‘Patricia, this isn’t what we agreed.’”
My pulse vanished.
“What did Patricia say?”
Ava whispered:
“She said, ‘You agreed a long time ago.’”
I called Claire.
May you like
By evening, police search of Helen’s home had begun.
And inside a cedar sewing chest in her bedroom, they found an old white phone that had belonged to Emily.
