In the Clearing (Tracy Crosswhite #3)(66)

“He went to counseling, but given the outcome, I guess you can conclude he never got the help he needed.”

“Did he ever discuss what the nightmares were about?”

She shook her head. “Not with me. He said he didn’t know. He said when he woke up he couldn’t remember anything.”

“But you said they got progressively worse?”

“Just judging from his reactions when he woke. I don’t know what they were about.”

“When did they start?”

Martin took a moment, bracelets rattling as she raised her hand and ran her index and middle finger across her bottom lip. “Not long after our first daughter was born. I spoke to his counselor about it once, after Darren was gone. She said that things from childhood could be triggered by the birth of a child. Abandonment issues, for instance . . . or abuse.”

“Did the counselor say what it might have been with respect to your husband?”

“No. And at that point I really didn’t want to know.”

“How old were your daughters when your husband took his life?”

“Rebecca was seventeen. Rachel was fourteen.”

“And you’ve never found out why?”

“You mean other than depression and substance abuse?”

“Did you ever ask to see his counseling records?”

She sighed. “Why? What would be the point?”

“To see if he ever said what was troubling him, what was keeping him awake at night, why he drank?”

Martin continued to rub her lower lip. “Why would I want to know?” she said, voice and demeanor soft, but her eyes almost challenging Tracy to give her a reason. “What good would come from knowing, if it was anything?”

“You’d have an answer.”

“Maybe not an answer we want.”

“I understand—”

“No.” Martin raised a hand. Her blue eyes bore into Tracy. She sounded tired. “I don’t think you do, Detective. No offense, but I’ve had a lot of people over the years tell me that, and until you’ve been through it, you have very little credibility making that statement.”

“My sister was murdered when she was eighteen. I was twenty-two. Two years later, my father, overcome with grief, shot himself.” She paused just a moment. Her intent was not to make Tiffany Martin feel bad, but to find common ground. “I went twenty years not knowing what happened to my sister. Finding the truth was painful. Not knowing the truth was more painful.”

Martin caught her breath and looked out the window, seemingly on the verge of tears. She turned back to Tracy. “I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t assume I’m the only person who’s been through this.”

“Don’t be sorry; you couldn’t have known.”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it? We don’t know. Do you know how many people came up to me after and told me they’d lost someone they loved to suicide?”

“A lot,” Tracy said. “Too many.”

Martin nodded. Tracy gave her the moment. “You said this has something to do with an investigation?”

“It might,” Tracy said. “I really don’t know yet.”

“What’s the investigation about?”

Tracy saw no way to soften the facts. “A seventeen-year-old girl who went to the same high school as your husband went missing in 1976—”

“Oh God.” Martin dropped her head into her hands. “You think he killed her? Is that what his nightmares were about?” It struck Tracy that Martin had to have thought about what had troubled her husband, or at least speculated.

“No. No, I can’t say that. Mrs. Martin, this is really preliminary. The sheriff’s office concluded that the girl committed suicide.”

“And?”

“With advances in technology, we can review old cases in ways that weren’t possible in 1976. We can evaluate the evidence differently. That’s all I’m doing at this point.”

“And does the evidence indicate she didn’t commit suicide?”

“Some experts think that it might.”

“And you think Darren might have had something to do with it?”

“Let me back up. The case was investigated by a young deputy sheriff. He left behind a file. In that file were a couple of articles and a picture of your late husband with some of his classmates.”

“What was the picture of?”

“Your husband and his teammates in their football uniforms.”

“Why would that be in the file?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here, to see if there’s a reason.”

“Did you ask the deputy?”

“He’s dead. I’m trying to follow up on what he left behind. Your husband’s name was one of the names I ran through our computers. That’s all it is at this point.” Tracy didn’t tell Martin that she was the low-hanging fruit because she was local. She tried to quickly get the interview back on track. “Did your husband visit Stoneridge often?”

“No. Never.”

“Never?”

“I don’t recall a single time.”

“Were his parents still living there while you were married?”