Chapter 4: My Father Knew the Truth
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
My father had spent eight years telling me that Andre's death was a senseless tragedy. He had attended the funeral, stood beside me while I cried, and held my shoulders when I nearly collapsed beside the casket.
He had even helped me pack Andre's belongings.
And now Darius was telling me that my father had been the last person Andre called before he died.
Marcus took the police report from the table and examined it again.
"There's a date here," he said.
"This says your father was interviewed two days after the shooting.""
I stared at the paper.
"That's impossible.""
Darius shook his head.
"It's right there.""
"My father told the police he barely knew Andre.""
"Maybe that's what he wanted you to believe.""
I looked at him sharply.
"Don't talk about my father like you know him.""
Darius lowered his eyes.
"I'm not trying to disrespect you, Danielle. I'm telling you what I found.""
Marcus placed the report on the table.
"Let's slow down. What exactly does this document prove?""
Darius pointed to a paragraph near the bottom.
"Your father told the detectives that Andre called him around nine that night. He said the conversation was brief.""
"What time was Andre shot?"" Marcus asked.
"About ten fifteen.""
I shook my head.
"No. My father told me he was home watching television that night.""
Darius looked at me.
"Maybe he was.""
"Then why was he supposed to meet Andre?""
"I don't know.""
I stood abruptly.
The chair scraped against the floor.
"I need to call him.""
Marcus caught my wrist gently.
"Baby, wait.""
"Why?""
"Because we're not going to make an accusation based on one old report.""
I pulled my hand away.
"That's my father.""
"I know.""
"No, you don't understand. He was there for me when Andre died. He helped me survive that funeral.""
Marcus looked at me.
"And maybe that's why you need to hear what he has to say before deciding anything.""
Darius reached into his jacket and pulled out another folded document.
"I found this with the report.""
Marcus looked at him.
"What now?""
"It's a receipt.""
He placed it between us.
The receipt was from a gas station less than two miles from the convenience store where Andre had been murdered.
The date matched the night of his death.
The time printed at the top was 9:47 p.m.
And the name on the cardholder line was my father's.
I stared at it.
My father had told me he never left the house that evening.
Marcus read the receipt twice.
"Was this inside the storage unit?""
Darius nodded.
"Inside an old notebook.""
I looked at him.
"Why would Andre have my father's gas receipt?""
Darius shrugged.
"That's what I was hoping you could tell me.""
I picked up my phone.
This time, Marcus didn't stop me.
I dialed my father's number.
It rang four times.
Then he answered.
"Hey, baby girl.""
His voice was warm.
Normal.
The same voice that had called me sweetheart every morning since I was a child.
I nearly broke down.
"Dad, I need to ask you something.""
"Everything okay?""
"Where were you the night Andre died?""
Silence.
Not a long silence.
Just long enough.
Then he said, "Why are you asking me that?""
"Please answer.""
"I was home, Danielle. You know that.""
I closed my eyes.
"Did Andre call you that night?""
Another pause.
"Who told you that?""
My heart began pounding.
"So he did call you?""
"Danielle, this isn't a conversation we need to have over the phone.""
"Why?""
"Because you're upset, and I don't want you making assumptions.""
I looked at Marcus.
He was watching me carefully.
"Dad, did you meet Andre that night?""
My father's voice dropped.
"Where are you?""
"That doesn't matter.""
"Are you with Marcus?""
"Yes.""
"Put him on the phone.""
"No. I asked you a question.""
My father sighed.
"Listen to me. Andre was involved with some people who weren't good for him. I tried to help him. That's all.""
My stomach turned.
"You told me you barely knew him.""
"I didn't want you getting dragged into something dangerous.""
"What did you do?""
"Nothing.""
"Then why is your name in the police report?""
Silence.
This time, it lasted longer.
Finally, my father said, "Come to the house tomorrow. We'll talk.""
"No. We're talking now.""
"Danielle, I have nothing to hide.""
"Then tell me why you lied.""
His voice hardened.
"Because sometimes parents have to make decisions their children won't understand.""
I felt a chill run down my spine.
"What decisions?""
He exhaled.
"Tomorrow. Bring Marcus if you want.""
Then he ended the call.
I stared at the screen.
Marcus leaned forward.
"What did he say?""
I put the phone down.
"He admitted Andre called him.""
Darius closed his eyes.
I looked at him.
"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?""
"Because I didn't know if your father was involved or just trying to protect you.""
Marcus gathered the documents.
"Tomorrow we're going to get answers.""
I nodded.
But something inside me had already begun to change.
For eight years, I had remembered my father as the man who helped me bury the person I loved.
Now I wondered whether he had known something about that death that he had never told me.
That night, Marcus and I sat in our bedroom while our son slept in his crib.
The photograph remained on the nightstand.
I had turned it face down again.
Marcus was reading the police report on his phone, enlarging the scanned document.
I watched him for a moment.
"Are you angry with me?""
He looked up.
"About what?""
"Everything.""
He set the phone down.
"Danielle, I'm trying to figure out how much of your life I've been walking through without knowing the whole story.""
I looked at my hands.
"I didn't hide things because I wanted to hurt you.""
"I believe that.""
"Then why do you look at me like that?""
"Because I don't know what else you haven't told me.""
I swallowed.
Marcus rubbed his face.
"I keep thinking about something.""
"What?""
"When Andre was born, I called everybody. My mother, my brother, my friends. I told them my son had arrived.""
A faint smile crossed his face.
"I remember standing outside the hospital room, telling my brother I finally understood what it meant to love somebody more than yourself.""
I felt tears gathering.
Marcus continued.
"And now I'm wondering whether I was the only person in that room who thought we were starting something completely new.""
"Marcus, we were.""
He looked at me.
"Then why did you need to bring another man into the first thing we created together?""
I had no answer.
He stood and walked toward the crib.
Our son moved slightly.
Marcus adjusted the blanket.
"I love this little boy," he whispered.
Then he turned to me.
"And I'm going to keep loving him. Whatever happens between us.""
My throat tightened.
"Thank you.""
"But I need you to understand something. I can't spend the rest of my marriage competing with a ghost.""
He returned to the bed.
Before lying down, he picked up the photograph.
He studied Andre's face.
Then he placed it inside the drawer.
"I don't want to destroy it," he said.
"But I can't keep looking at it.""
I nodded.
He switched off the lamp.
For the first time since our son was born, we slept facing opposite directions.
At 3:12 a.m., my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
One message.
Your father is going to tell you Andre was the problem. Don't believe him. Ask him about the money.
I sat up.
Another message arrived.
And ask him why he paid somebody to keep quiet.
I stared at the screen.
Then I looked at Marcus.
He was already awake.
"What happened?""
I handed him the phone.
He read the messages.
His expression changed.
"Who sent this?""
"I don't know.""
Marcus looked toward the bedroom door.
"Danielle, I think tomorrow is going to be a lot worse than we thought.""
Then my phone rang.
It was my mother.
And when I answered, she was crying.
"Danielle," she whispered, "don't go to your father's house tomorrow.""
I froze.
"Why?""
May you like
She took a shaky breath.
"Because I know what happened the night Andre died.""
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