Park feels sweat pop on his brow, despite the chill outside and the temperate air inside. It’s sunny but not warm; the fall has been mild and they haven’t had to turn on the heat to the house yet. They keep it on the cool side, costs less that way. There is no reason for him to be sweating, and he hopes like hell the detectives don’t notice.
Olivia does. She nudges him with a foot, slides a napkin his way. He ignores her, and the sensation of damp continues unabated.
Detective Moore picks up her partner’s thread. Her voice is surprisingly husky.
“We found a partial DNA match to our suspect in the system. What we’ve discovered—”
“Park didn’t do this,” Olivia cuts in. “There must be a mistake.”
The cop shakes her head. “The DNA is irrefutable.”
Confusion. Panic. Olivia grasps his hand and just as quickly releases it, as if her instinct is to comfort and then she’s realized what they’re saying. A DNA match. To him. From a dead woman. He sees Olivia watching him aghast. Sees the thought form as if in a cartoon bubble above her head.
My husband is a killer.
But he doesn’t know Beverly Cooke. He’s never met her before. Has he? There must be some mistake.
“I—” he starts, but the ballerina detective raises a hand.
“This is where things get complicated. The DNA is not a direct match to you, Mr. Bender. It belongs to your son. Do you know where he is at this moment?”
“I...my... A son?” His voice breaks on the last word, and his lips twitch. His initial confusion is chased away by deep, abiding, palpable relief. He resists a smile but blows out a breath hard through his nose. “I see. Well, I hate to argue, but clearly there has been a mistake. I have no children. My wife is pregnant, though.” He touches Olivia’s shoulder. “We’re due in late June.”
Two sets of interested eyes take in Olivia, who is staring at him open-mouthed. They haven’t told anyone she’s expecting. They’ve learned not to, after all the miscarriages. And here he’s shared this secret with strangers in some sort of defense mechanism? He’s going to get an earful later, but it seems very important to make note of this impending fatherhood versus the idea that he already has a living, breathing child.
“Many best wishes, ma’am,” Osley says. “It’s an exciting time.”
“Yes,” Olivia replies, eyes now on her hands.
Moore isn’t as bonhomie as Osley. She’s tensed, coiled, like a snake about to strike, and Park braces himself. There’s more. He can feel it.
“I’m afraid there is no mistake. We’ve been running down this DNA sample for several weeks. A paternal link has been established. The suspect in our case is your biological son.”
Park shakes his head. “This is all very interesting, but it’s impossible. Like I said, I don’t have any children. But I have a brother. A twin. This could be his kid, couldn’t it? Since we’re twins?”
“Identical or fraternal?”
“Fraternal.”
“Then no, Mr. Bender. If he was an identical twin, there could be some question, but as a fraternal, you have distinctly individual DNAs.”
Park shakes his head. “It’s a mistake. There’s no way.”
“You aren’t aware of a child?”
“No. I’m not.”
“You’re not covering for him, are you?” Moore asks, frost dripping from her words.
That pisses him off. “No, I’m not covering for him. There is no him. I don’t know how this could happen.”
“Park?” Olivia is still staring, her mouth a small O of shock. He takes her hand, and she lets him.
“It’s okay, honey. It’s all some big mistake.”
“I think I’ll take you up on that coffee,” Osley says, flashing a smile, and Olivia jumps to her feet and pulls two cups from the cupboard, tipping one toward Moore in a silent offer. Moore waves her off.
“I don’t understand,” Olivia says, handing Osley the cup of steaming coffee and rejoining them at the table. “How could this be possible? Park doesn’t have any children. I think I’d know. I think he’d know.”
“My wife is right. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding,” Park starts again, but Moore shakes her head.
“I’m afraid there’s no mistake. Mr. Bender, you are the father of the suspect we’re seeking. That you’re not aware of the child makes things more complicated, but it doesn’t change reality.”
Moore glances sideways at Osley, who finishes his coffee with a slurp and sets the cup on the table hard enough to rattle. “We know this is awkward, Mr. Bender. We’d like to take another sample from you, so we can run the tests once more, just for certainty.”
Olivia is crumbling now. “This is impossible. Tell them, Park. Tell them they’ve made a mistake.” She’s crying; there’s a thickness in her voice, a long, slow sniffle. “You can’t have a child with someone else. You can’t.”
The coffee is burning in his stomach, acid crawling up into his throat. Her tears are making it worse. Shut this down. Now.
“Detectives, you need to give us a moment.”
“Sir—”
“A moment. Please. My wife is in a delicate condition. She needs to lie down.”
“I don’t. Tell them. Tell me,” Olivia wails. He hasn’t seen her this emotional since the first miscarriage. She’s been so strong through it all. Stoic. Numb, maybe. Damn it, why can’t she fall apart after they leave?
He stands, fighting the urge to grab her arm and yank her out of the room. Gently, oh so gently, he cups her elbow, says, “Come with me,” and, relieved when she complies, leads her from the kitchen toward the staircase in the hallway.
He hears the police murmuring, ignores them. Tears are pouring down Olivia’s cheeks, her gorgeous dark eyes swimming. He stops at the base of the stairs, knuckles one hefty tear away. “Go lie down. I’ll figure this out. I promise.”
“I don’t need to lie down.” A choking cry. “I’m not pregnant anymore. I lost it. This morning.”
The twin blows are too much to take. He has a biological child out in the world, one he had no idea existed. His wife has lost their baby. Sorrow spills over him, and he pulls her to his chest. Her hair smells like freshly cut hay on a summer day, clean and grassy, and now that he’s paying attention, he scents the blood. He’s always been especially attuned to her cycle. How had he missed this?