Afterlife - Douglas Clegg [16]
Just go away, she thought. Everyone go away. Let it be someone else who loses their husband. Not me. Let it be anyone else. Hut, where are you? Why did you leave? Why aren’t you here with me?
Mel and McGuane started talking. Mel went to sit down on the two steps that led up to the dining area, at the edge of the room. Julie felt she could shut them all out. Just block them, like she were a child with her hands over her ears.
Then, she brought her hands down from her face. They were still there. They watched her as if she were something that were about to break.
“We’ve tried to locate the orphanage,” McGuane said.
She glanced up from the pictures. “The what?”
“Orphanage. Where your husband grew up.”
She hesitated before speaking. She tried to grasp his meaning. “He had parents.”
McGuane glanced at her sharply.
“Tell me,” she said. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” McGuane said. “Nothing at all.”
“I know he was adopted,” Julie said. “But he was little. Three or four. I think four.”
“Mrs. Hutchinson, your husband wasn’t adopted until he was sixteen. Before that he was a ward of the state of New York.”
“What?”
“He was part of a special program, Mrs. Hutchinson. It was the 1970s, and there was some special aptitude your husband had to qualify for this program. As a boy.”
“Are you sure you mean my husband? Jeff Hutchinson?”
McGuane nodded. “I’m sorry that you weren’t aware. I assumed that your husband would have informed you about his past. About his childhood.”
She sat there, stunned.
“Did you ever speak with his adoptive parents about his past?”
“No,” she said, her face reddening. “What…what kind of program was he in?”
McGuane gave what looked to her like an ironic grin. “Not sure yet. I was hoping you could tell me, actually.”
“I have no idea,” she said, her voice taking on a far-away quality as if she were ransacking memories to try and remember one thing he might’ve said about something from childhood that seemed out of the ordinary. Her mother’s annoying voice erupted in her head, the bad advice given when she got engaged to Hut: Remember, wives never really know much about their husbands. It’s just the way marriage is. That’s why your father and I got divorced. They keep secrets. They hold back. To hell with it. Then, she remembered something. “Oh. He told me he was…” she glanced at Mel as if trying to get her to confirm a memory of a conversation. “You were there. It was about some accident when he was little. He said he was in a hospital for a long time.”
“All we know is that it was a school called Daylight. Or the Daylight Project. And it was not an ordinary program.”
“Why is that important?”
“Your husband may have known one of the other victims. All of them were there. Your husband may have known the man who killed him. We’re just looking into things for now. Trying to connect the dots,” McGuane said. “A man, roughly your husband’s age, was attacked by the killer. But not killed. His memory, after the attack, isn’t so good. But he knew about your husband. He knew about two women who were also killed. We’re having trouble with his story, simply because…well, he claims to have psychic knowledge.”
“Psychic?” Mel said, shooting a glance at Julie. Julie caught it: what the hell?
“Wait, are you saying that some psychic is claiming things, and the NYPD is listening?”
“We’ve had some help, at times, from the psychic community, Mrs. Hutchinson,” McGuane said, straightfaced. “I personally don’t really believe in that kind of thing. But, sometimes it helps.”
“So you’re going to use a psychic to find who killed Hut?” Julie could not repress a laugh.
McGuane glanced down at his soda. “There are all kinds of ways to find a killer, Mrs. Hutchinson. I’m sure you would want us to use every resource at our disposal.”
Mel chimed in. “Mom told me that sometimes psychics feel they see a murder scene,” she said.
“Sure,” Julie deadpanned. “Maybe we should ask Livy to tune in on her brain radio.” Then, more