Chapter 2 - Megan’s name
Officer Sarah Cole was the first person to speak.
“Mr. Bennett, step away from the counter.”
Robert obeyed.
Slowly.
His eyes stayed on the box.
Officer Cole’s partner, James Whitaker, moved toward it wearing gloves.
“Do not touch anything else.”
Robert nodded.
I stared at my husband.
“Whose is it?”
He looked at me.
“Claire…”
That tone frightened me more than the silence.
“Whose?”
“I think it’s Megan’s.”
His sister.
Thirty-three.
Lucas’s aunt.
The woman who had left the birthday early because of a headache.
“What do you mean you think?”
Robert pressed both hands against the back of his neck.
“I’ve seen that packaging.”
“When?”
He looked toward the officers.
Officer Cole said:
“Mr. Bennett, don’t discuss details with your wife right now if they overlap with what we need to establish independently.”
I hated her for about two seconds.
Then understood.
Separate accounts.
No contaminating memory.
No building one family story before police knew facts.
Whitaker photographed the box where it sat.
Then the pantry.
Then the surrounding shelves.
He asked:
“Was this here when you returned?”
Robert nodded.
“Where exactly?”
“Behind the cereal boxes.”
“Did you move it?”
“No.”
“Open the pantry?”
“Yes.”
“Move anything else?”
“One cereal box. I was looking.”
“Looking for what?”
Robert closed his eyes.
“That.”
There.
He knew enough to look.
Officer Cole turned toward me.
“Mrs. Bennett, did you know he was searching for medication?”
“No.”
“Did you know medication like this might be in the home?”
“No.”
I looked at Robert.
“What have you not told me?”
Cole interrupted.
“We’ll get there.”
I wanted to shout.
Instead I went silent.
That was harder.
The officers continued documenting.
In the pantry, behind cereal and canned soup, they found:
The open medication carton.
An empty plastic blister insert.
A small zippered cosmetic pouch.
Two pharmacy receipts.
Nothing else immediately obvious.
The medicine had not been prescribed to me.
Not to Robert.
Not to Lucas.
The name on the pharmacy label was:
Henry Bennett.
Robert’s father.
My father-in-law.
Sixty-eight.
The man who had eaten birthday cake at our kitchen table that afternoon.
My mouth went dry.
“Henry?”
Robert sat down.
Officer Cole said:
“You recognize the name?”
“He’s my father-in-law.”
“What condition is the medication for?”
“I don’t know.”
Robert whispered:
“I do.”
Everyone looked at him.
He stared at the floor.
“It was prescribed after his surgery.”
“What surgery?”
“Back surgery.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“And why would your sister have it?”
Robert did not answer.
Officer Cole waited.
He finally said:
“Because I think she’s been taking his medication.”
The kitchen became very quiet.
I said:
“What?”
May you like
Robert’s face crumpled.
“I think Megan relapsed.”
