Chapter 9: Thursday
Warren called at seven Thursday morning.
"Renata Solís came in last night," he said.
"Voluntarily.
She brought her own attorney."
I sat up in bed.
Christopher was still asleep beside me.
"She talked?" I whispered.
"For four hours," Warren said.
"She confirmed the Vermont property.
She confirmed the policy.
She confirmed that Christopher told her you had been showing signs of depression and that he was concerned about your mental state." A pause.
"She also confirmed that she did not know about Diane Marsh or the woman in Cincinnati until two days ago, when my contact showed her the file."
"What did she do when she saw it?"
"She asked for a box of tissues and then she asked for immunity."
I looked at the ceiling.
"Is she going to get it?"
"Partial.
She's cooperating fully.
Her attorney negotiated it last night." Warren's voice was steady.
"Gwen, they have everything they need.
The field office is coordinating with the Akron prosecutor.
The warrant for Christopher's arrest is being prepared this morning."
Christopher shifted in his sleep beside me.
"When?" I said.
"They want to wait until you're both out of the house.
They don't want a scene inside.
Can you get him to leave before noon?"
"Yes," I said.
"I'll tell him I want to stop somewhere on the way to Vermont.
He'll go ahead to load the car."
"Good.
Patricia will be outside when it happens.
Toby too, if you want."
"I want," I said.
I got up quietly and went to the kitchen.
I made coffee.
Two cups, the way I always did.
Christopher came down at eight, freshly shaved, carrying his overnight bag.
"Ready?" he said.
"Almost." I handed him his coffee.
"I want to stop at the florist on Elm before we leave — I promised Mrs.
Henley next door I'd drop something off for her.
Would you mind loading the car while I get ready?"
"Of course." He took the coffee and kissed my cheek.
"Take your time."
He went outside.
I stood at the kitchen window and watched him open the trunk.
My phone buzzed.
Toby: *We're on the street.
Patricia's here.
Warren's contact is two minutes out.*
I watched Christopher arrange the bags in the trunk with the same careful, methodical precision he brought to everything.
He closed the trunk and dusted his hands and looked up at the house with an expression I had never seen on him before — something satisfied and private and completely still.
Then the car turned onto our street.
Two of them.
Unmarked, but obvious to anyone who knew what to look for.
Christopher saw them at the same moment I did.
He didn't run.
He turned slowly, and for one second he looked directly at the kitchen window — directly at me — and his face went through something I cannot fully describe.
Recognition.
Calculation.
And then, underneath both of those, something that might have been the first honest thing I had ever seen from him.
Fear.
The agents were out of the car before he could move.
I heard the words through the glass, muffled but clear enough.
*Christopher Aldren.
We have a warrant for your arrest.*
He put his hands up slowly.
He didn't look at the window again.
I set my coffee cup down on the counter.
Patricia was at my front door thirty seconds later.
I opened it before she knocked.
"It's done," she said.
I nodded.
Toby came up the path behind her and put his arms around me without saying anything.
I let him.
I held on for a long moment and looked over his shoulder at the street, where Christopher was being guided into the back of the car with one hand on the top of his head.
"Mom," Toby said quietly.
"It's over."
May you like
"Not yet," I said.
"But almost."
