It's One of Us(40)

“What, they go shopping for donors? From a catalog? Like, J.Jill shows up in your mailbox with sperm donors instead of sweaters? That’s insane.”

Moore coughs out a laugh. “Something like that, though it’s all done online. Mr. Bender seems to have been a popular donor. Winterborn claims an 80 percent live birth ratio, though we’ve discovered they have no requirements for their clients to report, so that number means nothing. They’re a broker. They sell sperm to women who want to have kids. It’s that simple.”

Olivia’s watch buzzes discreetly from her wrist. She glances at it. Park is calling. She declines.

“Don’t they have some sort of regulations that stop them from using the same donor a ton of times? I remember a report out of Georgia about a sperm bank that let this happen. But that donor had psychological issues, if I recall, and there are lawsuits.”

The watch buzzes again.

“Yes, I know the case you’re talking about. This is different, in that apparently your husband only donated a few times, and that was years ago. Frozen sperm works fine, clearly, versus fresh... But in case you’re worried about lawsuits against Mr. Bender, no. He never misrepresented himself. There’s nothing criminal here. Not on his end, of course. The issue is why Winterborn allowed so many women to buy Mr. Bender’s sperm. Sadly, it’s a relatively unregulated industry, one that depends on the ethics of the sperm banks and the doctors running it to do the right thing and limit the number of times a donor is used. Most do. Some don’t. Winterborn is clearly one of the ones that doesn’t. It’s not illegal. Unethical as hell, but not illegal. Many states are starting to change the laws, but as of now, they are untouchable.”

“And you’re sure one of Park’s children is a killer?”

“I am.”

“So it stands to reason Beverly’s killer broke into Park’s office and brought me the paperwork to discover the truth?”

“That sounds a bit like a mystery novel, but it is possible. Again, I don’t like jumping to conclusions.”

Olivia’s watch continues buzzing. She keeps hitting Decline.

“Why though? Why would... I’m going to ask you again, Detective. Am I in danger?”

Moore doesn’t answer, and Olivia blows out a breath. “Okay. I can get out of town for a few days. I have a job. I can—”

“Let’s have you stay here where I can keep an eye on you, okay? I don’t want you running off alone right now.”

“Maybe I want to be alone.” God, would everyone please just leave me alone? It’s all she wants, space to heal, to throw herself into work, to hide away from her traitorous husband and his illegitimate brood. Getting a start on redoing Annika’s beach house gives her a perfect escape on every level. She can push back a few weeks here, especially since the marble is ruined. By the time she returns, this could all be over.

Ah, but you will never be able to separate your husband from the twenty-eight biological brats he has, will you?

Moore is getting antsy. “Understandable. But humor me. I’d prefer not having to investigate any more killings, okay?”

“You think this guy might try to kill me?” The sentence ends on an unattractive shriek, one Olivia is embarrassed to make, but the idea that she might have been in real danger sends a flood of adrenaline through her after the fact. Moore puts up both hands.

“No, no, I’m not saying that at all. Bad choice of words, and I’m sorry. But I’d much rather be ten minutes away from you if something goes wrong than six hours. Stay put, okay? I’d really appreciate it.”

Olivia nods.

“Great. Let me get you with our artist. Do you have time now?”

Olivia gestures to the half-finished kitchen. “All the time in the world, apparently. I just had a massive setback on this project, crews are going to be here any minute, and—” she points to her wrist “—my husband’s been calling incessantly for the past five minutes.”

“I hear you. I’ll make it quick and painless. I’m going to take another look around if you don’t mind.”

“Have at it. I need to call my husband.”

Olivia scoops her phone out of her purse and dials Park.

“Where are you?” he demands. His voice has the hitch it gets when he is extremely stressed.

“At the Jones build. What’s wrong?”

“What isn’t wrong?” he says bitterly. “Can you please just come home? We need to talk.”

“I can’t right now. I had a weird break-in here this morning. I have to go to the police station to sit down with a sketch artist.”

“What kind of break-in? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Nothing was taken. It was... I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m not. I think we’re being targeted. Someone broke into the shed last night.”

“I heard. Moore is here.”

“You called her? God, Liv. I get that you need to punish me, but seriously? You’re talking to the cops instead of me?”

“Calm down.”

“Don’t you always say telling someone to calm down is equal to the patriarchy saying shut up, you ridiculous woman?”

“Yeah, I do. How’s it feel?” she snaps.

She hears him breathe deeply through his nose, mastering his emotions so he doesn’t explode. Maybe he needs to explode. Maybe they both do.