Chapter 3 - The First Mrs. Hale
For several seconds, none of us spoke.
Then I said, “That’s impossible.”
Evelyn did not answer.
Maya did.
“Why?”
“Because I’m his wife.”
“That does not make a prior marriage impossible.”
I shook my head.
“Christopher was never married before me.”
“You were told he wasn’t.”
I hated the distinction.
Evelyn asked to hear the recording again.
My father’s voice repeated the sentence.
Pamela Cross is not Christopher’s mistress. She is his wife.
Then the file continued.
“They married in Nevada eleven years ago. I have not found a valid divorce decree. Samantha met Christopher two years later. Pamela presented herself as a friend first, then became indispensable. I believe the two of them planned that introduction.”
I could not breathe.
Seventeen years of friendship.
Nine years of marriage.
All of it rearranged in one minute.
Maya stopped the recording.
“Do you need a break?”
“No.”
“You should take one.”
“No.”
I looked at Evelyn.
“Find the marriage.”
She already had her laptop open.
It took forty-two minutes.
Clark County marriage record.
Christopher David Hale.
Pamela Elise Cross.
Eleven years ago.
Maya searched for dissolution records.
None appeared in Nevada.
California had nothing.
Evelyn warned that records could exist elsewhere, but her voice told me what she believed.
My marriage might never have been legal.
I laughed.
Maya watched me carefully.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Because I was worried he wanted to become a widower.”
I wiped my eyes.
“He may have been a bigamist first.”
By evening, police obtained a warrant for Christopher’s office records.
They also placed discreet surveillance on him.
He and Pamela were staying at our Coronado condo.
My condo.
The security footage showed them entering together after the burial.
Pamela carried champagne.
Christopher carried my jewelry case.
I watched without sound.
Maya offered to stop the video.
“Keep going.”
At 8:17 p.m., Christopher stepped onto the balcony and called someone.
The warrant gave police access to the phone record.
The number belonged to Malcolm Voss.
Dr. Voss answered.
The call lasted fourteen seconds.
Then Christopher called again.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
“He didn’t know Voss was missing,” Maya said.
“So maybe Voss is not part of this.”
“He signed your death certificate.”
“Or somebody used his name.”
Maya nodded.
“That’s now a serious possibility.”
The flash drive from my father’s box contained spreadsheets documenting years of payments from Christopher’s development company to medical consulting businesses.
Several were connected to Dr. Voss’s clinic.
One was connected to Pamela.
A forensic accountant began tracing the transactions.
I kept returning to the wedding record.
“What did Pamela get from this?” I asked.
Maya shrugged.
“Money. Revenge. Control. We don’t know.”
“She became my best friend.”
“Maybe that was part of the access.”
I thought of every vulnerable moment I had shared with Pamela.
My mother’s death.
My infertility scare.
My father’s final weeks.
Arguments with Christopher.
She had known where every weak door in my life was because I had handed her the keys.
At nine, Elias called.
“Can I visit?”
“Yes.”
He arrived with Barnaby after the hospital granted special permission for a brief visit in a private courtyard.
I sat wrapped in a blanket.
Barnaby placed his head in my lap.
I scratched behind his ears.
Elias stood nearby.
“You look better.”
“I look alive.”
“That’s usually better.”
I smiled.
Then he said, “I remembered where I knew your name.”
“You said you didn’t know me.”
“I didn’t know you. I knew your father.”
I looked up.
“How?”
“Arthur Bennett bought a building from my brother twenty years ago.”
“That sounds like Dad.”
“My brother was losing everything after a divorce. Arthur could have taken advantage. Didn’t.”
Elias looked at Barnaby.
“He gave him six extra months and reduced the interest.”
I felt tears rise.
“My father never told me.”
“Good men usually forget to advertise.”
I smiled.
Elias’s face became serious.
“There’s something else.”
Of course.
“The envelope Christopher gave me had two thousand dollars.”
“I remember.”
“There was a note folded inside.”
He handed Maya a photocopy.
The original was already in evidence.
NO VIEWING. NO EMBALMING. CLOSE CASKET. COMPLETE BURIAL BEFORE 10 A.M.
Maya’s jaw tightened.
“Who wrote this?”
“Christopher handed it to me.”
I stared at the line.
No embalming.
That explained part of how I survived.
They needed me buried before anyone performed procedures that would reveal I was alive.
Maya said, “Why did you agree?”
Elias looked ashamed again.
“Funeral director told me the family wanted privacy. Christopher said you had religious objections to embalming.”
“I don’t.”
“I know that now.”
Barnaby lifted his head.
Elias continued.
“I should have questioned it.”
“You opened the coffin.”
“My dog questioned it.”
I touched Barnaby’s face.
“So did you.”
The next morning, police found Dr. Malcolm Voss.
Alive.
He walked into a station in Arizona with an attorney.
Maya came to the hospital immediately.
“He says he did not sign your death certificate.”
“Does he know who did?”
“He thinks so.”
“Who?”
Maya sat.
“Pamela.”
I stared.
“He says Pamela stole prescription pads and access credentials from his clinic months ago.”
“Why didn’t he report it?”
“He did.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Then why wasn’t she arrested?”
“The clinic initially treated it as internal misuse, and no fraudulent death certificate had appeared yet.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why did he run?”
“He says Christopher threatened him after your father died.”
“Why after Dad died?”
Maya’s expression changed.
“Because Dr. Voss believes your father did not die naturally.”
The room tilted.
My father had died in his sleep.
Heart failure.
No autopsy.
Maya continued.
“Voss says Arthur came to him privately with concerns about medication tampering.”
I stared.
“What medication?”
“Your father’s.”
May you like
For two years, I had mourned my father as though death had simply arrived.
Now I wondered whether Christopher had been practicing on him first.
