Chapter 2 - The First LieThe emergency room smelled like disinfectant and burnt coffee.
Junie had bruising along her ribs, raw palms, a strained shoulder and a shallow cut beneath her chin.
Nothing broken.
No internal injuries.
The physician used the phrase extraordinarily fortunate twice.
Adrian hated it both times.
Fortunate meant his daughter had almost died.
Fortunate meant gravity had nearly taken her and happened not to.
Junie slept curled against him beneath a white hospital blanket, one hand wrapped around his index finger.
Across the hallway, Corinne was talking to a police officer.
Adrian could hear pieces of her story.
“…turned around for one second…”
“…she was running…”
“…kids that age…”
Detective Lena Ortiz listened without interrupting.
She was in her early forties, compact, calm and almost aggressively unreadable.
When Corinne finished, Ortiz asked, “Where were you standing?”
“Maybe six feet away.”
“And Junie?”
“Near the edge.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were supervising a four-year-old beside an unrailed section of the bow and you don’t know why she was there?”
Corinne’s jaw tightened.
“She came over unexpectedly.”
Adrian looked down at Junie.
He remembered Corinne saying she wanted children someday.
He remembered her choosing Junie’s birthday cake.
He remembered Junie climbing into Corinne’s lap during a thunderstorm six months earlier.
Now every memory felt contaminated.
Ortiz entered the room twenty minutes later.
“Mr. Brooks?”
“Adrian.”
She pulled a chair near the bed.
“Your wife says Junie slipped.”
“My daughter says she was pushed.”
“I know.”
“She’s four, Detective. She doesn’t invent something like that.”
Ortiz did not agree immediately.
Adrian noticed that.
“You don’t believe her?”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying four-year-olds can be accurate witnesses, inaccurate witnesses, frightened witnesses or influenced witnesses. My job is not to decide which one she is because I like one version better.”
Adrian looked away.
“That sounded colder than I intended,” Ortiz said.
“No. It sounded like you’ve done this before.”
“Too many times.”
She glanced at Junie.
“I’d like a child forensic interviewer to speak with her when the doctor clears it. Without you or your wife in the room.”
Adrian’s instinct was immediate.
“No.”
Ortiz waited.
He rubbed his face.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“She almost fell into the ocean.”
“I know.”
“She’s terrified when a nurse leaves the door open.”
“I know.”
“And now a stranger wants to question her.”
“A stranger who knows how not to put words in her mouth.”
That landed.
Adrian nodded slowly.
“Okay.”
Ortiz stood.
“One other thing.”
“What?”
“Your yacht has an onboard video system.”
Adrian frowned.
“Mostly security and navigation.”
“We requested the footage.”
“And?”
“A section is missing.”
His stomach tightened.
“What section?”
Ortiz watched him.
“Eighty-one seconds from the bow feed.”
Adrian did not breathe.
“What eighty-one seconds?”
“The eighty-one seconds containing your daughter’s fall.”
Adrian stared at her.
“That’s not possible.”
“The system log shows the camera was active before and after.”
“Maybe it malfunctioned.”
“Maybe.”
He heard the word she did not say.
Or maybe somebody deleted it.
A movement in the doorway made him look up.
Corinne stood there.
Her face was pale.
“Adrian?”
He studied her.
“Did you know the camera was missing footage?”
“What?”
Ortiz turned.
Corinne walked into the room.
“No. Of course not.”
Adrian watched her eyes.
She looked at him.
Then Ortiz.
Then, almost imperceptibly, toward the sleeping child.
Junie shifted in her sleep.
Her fingers tightened around Adrian’s.
Corinne whispered, “This is getting ridiculous.”
Adrian’s head came up.
“My daughter nearly died.”
“I know what happened.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to figure out.”
Corinne stared at him.
Something hardened behind her eyes.
“You believe her.”
It wasn’t a question.
Adrian stood carefully so he wouldn’t wake Junie.
“I believe I wasn’t there.”
Corinne flinched.
“I’m your wife.”
“And she’s my daughter.”
“You think that means I’m lying?”
Adrian looked at the woman he had married eighteen months earlier.
“I think eighty-one seconds disappeared.”
Corinne folded her arms.
“And you think I somehow did that?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Ortiz stepped between the emotional lines before they became something worse.
“Mrs. Brooks, nobody is accusing you of deleting anything.”
Corinne laughed bitterly.
“Not yet.”
She turned toward the hallway.
Then stopped.
“Ask your detective one question, Adrian.”
He waited.
Corinne looked back at him.
“If I wanted Junie dead, why would I do it on a yacht full of people?”
She left.
Ortiz watched her go.
Adrian did too.
Then the detective said quietly, “That’s an interesting way to phrase it.”
Adrian turned toward her.
Ortiz’s expression had changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Because Corinne had not said Why would I push her?
May you like
She had said something else.
If I wanted Junie dead.
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