The Widower's Wife: A Thriller by Cate Holahan Page A

registered to people living in Brazil. Only one photo showed a woman older than thirty. Ryan double-clicked on the face and sent a message explaining that he was investigating Ana Bacon’s case. He sweetened the request for a reply by reminding them that they were also policy beneficiaries and Sophia’s secondary guardians.
    A static photo of an older woman with a light coffee complexion and tired eyes suddenly dominated his screen. He clicked to accept the call.
    “Hello?” Though the woman’s voice was shaky, she stressed the H sound. The emphasis made clear that the language was not her own.
    He introduced himself with a truncated version of the message he’d just sent.
    “Yes. We’ve been waiting to speak with you.” Mrs. Santos called over her shoulder. “Luis. Vem cá . O investigador .”
    Sounds of someone shuffling in the background came through the speakers. A metal chair scraped against tile as Mrs. Santos moved her seat to make room for her husband. When Luis came into view, Ryan knew he had the right couple. Ana had her father’s straight nose, though his bridge was slightly crooked, perhaps the result of a break at some point in his life. He had a reddish-brown face framed by curly black hair, far more textured than the straight bob that hung beside his wife’s fair cheeks. Together, Ryan could see how they’d produced a woman with Ana’s dark, wavy hair and caramel coloring.
    “I didn’t have a good number for you,” Ryan said.
    Mr. Santos looked sheepish. “The phone is having problems. We are working with the company.”
    “You can’t let Tom have Sophia,” Beatriz blurted. She leaned toward the screen. “He killed our daughter. He will hurt Sophia.”
    Ryan was thrown by the accusation. Did they blame Tom for their daughter’s suicide? “He has an alibi,” Ryan said. He remembered the redhead’s blush as she embarrassed herself on national television, admitting that she’d been flirting with a married man while the female anchor tut-tutted. “Why do you think he is responsible for Ana’s death?”
    Beatriz and her husband exchanged a determined look. She stared straight at the camera lens, not at her reflection on screen as so many people did during video calls. “He beat her.”
    Ryan nodded slowly, giving his brain time to run the relevant data: 25 percent of women were hit by a partner at some point in their lives. Depressed men were more likely to become violent than despondent, and losing a job—not to mention a career—was a prime driver of depression in men. Prior physical assaults also helped explain Ana’s suicide. More than a quarter of abused women made attempts on their lives.
    However, Ryan reminded himself, Ana’s parents had ten million reasons to lie. “How did you know Tom was abusive? Did Ana tell you that Tom hit her?”
    An exasperated look passed over Beatriz’s face. She pointed at the screen. “My daughter and I were very close. I could tell something was wrong, and she had bruises when she’d call.”
    “On her face?” Ryan’s hand curled into a fist. Say yes. Say yes . Facial lacerations, swollen lips, sunglasses worn indoors—such things did not go unnoticed in suburban grocery stores and Wall Street offices. He could get people to corroborate or refute Ana’s parents’ claims.
    Beatriz glanced at her husband. Luis kept his eyes trained on his hands like a chastised child. Was he embarrassed that he hadn’t been able to help his daughter? Or ashamed that his wife would make a false accusation against their former son-in-law?
    “She told me so,” Beatriz said. “She had fingerprints on her arms from where he’d grab her. She had bruises on her stomach. He beat her where people wouldn’t see.” Tears welled in her eyes. “He wanted her dead.”
    “Do you think Tom drove Ana to kill herself?”
    Beatriz pulled her chin into her neck. “No. Ana would never, never , have jumped and left Sophia with him. Never.” She frowned.