Chapter 7: The Unknown Number
Priya traced it in forty minutes.
She had a contact — a former colleague from her law firm days — and she didn't explain exactly what she asked him or how, but by early afternoon she was back at my kitchen table with a name.
**Marcus Reilly.** An address in a city two hours away.
And a connection to Brooke that went back five years.
"He's not a relative," Priya said.
"I checked the obvious things.
Not a cousin, not a brother.
But they share an address in the property records from four years ago.
Same apartment.
Fourteen months."
"A former partner," Dana said.
"That's what it looks like."
I thought about the silent calls.
The breathing at the end of the first one.
The hang-up when I'd answered.
"He's not calling me," I said.
"He's calling Walter's number.
From my caller ID, it showed as unknown — but Walter said the same.
It's Walter's phone he's calling."
"Why would Brooke's ex be calling Walter?"
Nobody answered that.
I went back to number 14 that afternoon.
Walter was on the porch.
He looked like he'd been there a while.
I sat in the other chair — the one that used to be Carol's, the one that had a slightly different angle to it, turned a few degrees more toward the street.
"The unknown number," I said.
"Have you answered it?"
"Once.
Last week.
Before Saturday." He looked out at the circle.
"A man's voice.
He asked if I was Walter Finch.
I said yes.
He said he needed me to know something about my wife." Walter paused.
"Then Brooke walked into the room and I said I had to go and I hung up."
"You didn't tell her who it was."
"I said it was a wrong number."
"Walter."
"I know." He rubbed his face.
"I know.
I was — I wasn't ready.
I didn't want it to be true yet."
"His name is Marcus Reilly.
He and Brooke lived together four years ago."
Walter was quiet for a moment.
"She told me she hadn't had a serious relationship before me.
That she'd focused on her practice.
Her teaching."
"I'm sorry."
He nodded slowly.
Not surprised.
Just — absorbing it.
"I'd like to call him back," he said.
"The number.
Would you stay while I do?"
I said yes.
He dialed.
It rang four times.
Then a man's voice, cautious: "Hello?"
"This is Walter Finch," Walter said.
"I think you've been trying to reach me."
A pause.
"Yes.
I have.
I wasn't sure you'd call back."
"I'm calling now.
What did you need to tell me?"
Another pause.
Longer.
"She's done this before," Marcus said.
"Not exactly the same.
But close enough.
She finds someone — older, stable, property.
She gets married.
She starts moving things around.
Bank accounts, addresses, registrations.
By the time they understand what's happening, she's got enough of a footprint that it gets complicated."
Walter's hand on the phone didn't move.
"How many times?" he said.
"That I know of?
Twice before you.
I was the one before.
I wasn't old enough or — I didn't have what she needed.
She left after fourteen months." A pause.
"The one before me lost his savings.
He didn't press charges.
He just wanted it over."
Walter looked at the chalk dragon still faintly visible on the pavement below.
"Do you have documentation?" he said.
"Anything that could help my attorney?"
"I've been keeping records for two years," Marcus said.
"I can send everything."
Walter said, "Please do." He gave him Richard's email address.
His hand was steady the whole time.
He hung up.
We sat on the porch for a while without talking.
A kid from the Patel house rode past on a bike, looped the circle, and rode back.
Neither of us said anything until the street was quiet again.
May you like
"She picked the right street," Walter said finally.
"She just picked the wrong neighbors."
