Chapter 7 - The Name That Wasn't Hers
Detective Mercer didn't smile when I showed him the application.
He studied it for nearly a minute.
Then he asked, "Has your daughter ever used a different date of birth on any official document?"
"No."
"Has Hollis ever mentioned the address on this form?"
"No."
"Do you recognize the phone number?"
I shook my head.
Mercer made a note.
We sat in a small interview room at the sheriff's office.
Meredith was beside me.
The walls were beige.
The table was scratched.
A clock above the door ticked loudly enough that I found myself counting the seconds between questions.
"Tell me again how Hollis became involved with your daughter's financial paperwork."
I explained.
The support group.
The volunteering.
The way he'd offered to organize records.
The cabinet in my home office.
The wedding paperwork.
I kept waiting for Mercer to look disappointed in me.
He didn't.
He simply asked precise questions.
When I finished, he said, "We need to separate what you personally observed from what you suspect."
"I understand."
"Good. That's how we build something that can be verified."
He opened a folder.
"I've reviewed the initial footage from the lodge."
My heart jumped.
"What does it show?"
"Mr. Garrity leading your daughter down the service hallway. He enters the laundry room with her and comes out alone approximately ninety seconds later."
I closed my eyes.
"Does it show him locking the door?"
"The camera covers the corridor. It shows him speaking with an employee and gesturing toward the laundry-room entrance. It doesn't show everything that happened inside."
"Mara told you what he said?"
"She gave a statement."
"And Wren?"
"Her specialist interview is scheduled. We'll follow the child interviewer’s guidance."
I nodded.
Mercer turned a page.
"There's also footage of Mr. Garrity opening the blue folder outside the room. He places a small object inside."
My hands tightened.
"The second dog tag?"
"We can't identify it from the footage."
"Did you recover it?"
"Not yet."
I stared at him.
Hollis had returned one tag.
He'd kept the other.
I didn't understand why.
It wasn't valuable.
It wasn't gold.
It wasn't a document authorizing anything.
It was a piece of steel with my husband's name.
"Why would he keep it?" I asked.
Mercer looked at me.
"That's something we're trying to determine."
Meredith spoke.
"Have you been able to verify the mailbox?"
"The address appears to belong to a commercial mail-receiving service. We're requesting records through the appropriate channels."
"And the incorrect birthdate?"
Mercer tapped the application.
"That concerns me. It could be a simple error, or it could be relevant to an effort to create inconsistent records. We won't know without more documentation."
I appreciated his restraint.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the wrong date.
Wren was born at 4:17 in the morning on February 11.
Abel had held her first.
He'd been terrified of dropping her.
She had arrived three weeks early, furious about the inconvenience.
The story of her birth belonged to our family.
Seeing a stranger's version of it on a financial document felt like watching somebody write over her life.
Mercer slid another paper toward me.
"Can you tell me whether you've ever used the name Wren A. Merrick?"
I looked down.
The document listed:
WREN A. MERRICK.
My daughter's legal name was Wren Elise Merrick.
"Her middle initial is E."
Mercer nodded.
"Exactly."
I looked up.
"What is this?"
"A draft authorization found among the materials provided to us voluntarily by the lodge after the incident."
"How did the lodge have it?"
"It was left in a conference-room copier tray. The manager preserved it after being informed the papers might be relevant."
I stared at the form.
"Why was Hollis using the lodge copier?"
"We're examining that."
Meredith leaned closer.
The paper was headed with the name of a private document-preparation company.
Not Cedar Bridge.
Not Front Range Fiduciary Services.
Something new.
Summit Legacy Planning.
"Do you know this company?" Mercer asked.
"No."
He pointed to a line near the bottom.
An authorization field identified the adult acting on behalf of the minor.
Hollis Garrity.
My breath caught.
"He was trying to make himself Wren's guardian?"
"Not necessarily," Meredith said immediately. "An authorization for financial correspondence isn't the same as legal guardianship."
I nodded.
But the document still frightened me.
Why was he presenting himself as the person entitled to act for my daughter?
And why was he using her name incorrectly?
Mercer turned the page.
"There is a second document."
I looked down.
This one contained a proposed amendment to a financial management agreement.
The first paragraph referred to my upcoming marriage.
The next named Hollis as an alternate authorized representative.
I scanned the page.
Then stopped.
Near the bottom was a typed line.
In the event of trustee unavailability, temporary incapacity, or administrative delay, the designated representative may petition for expanded authority subject to applicable law.
"Petition?" I asked.
Meredith read it.
"That language does not grant him authority by itself. A court would examine the trust and applicable legal requirements."
"But he was preparing to ask?"
"It appears he was preparing documents that could be used to support such a request."
Mercer looked at me.
"Has Hollis ever suggested that you're unable to manage your finances?"
I started to answer no.
Then remembered his words at the wedding.
She's having some kind of breakdown.
And before that:
She's never really dealt with her husband's death.
I felt cold.
"He tells people I work too hard."
"Anything else?"
"He says I don't sleep enough. That I'm still grieving. That I sometimes forget appointments."
"Are those things true?"
"Some of them."
I took a breath.
"I do work too hard. I don't always sleep well. And I miss Abel."
I looked directly at Mercer.
"None of that makes me incapable of caring for my daughter."
"Of course not," he said.
I stared at the papers.
A thought formed.
"Hollis used to tell me I needed to slow down."
Meredith watched me.
"He encouraged me to take leave last spring. He suggested I should let him handle all the household decisions for a while."
I remembered an evening in our kitchen.
I'd been exhausted after a long field exercise.
Hollis had placed a cup of tea beside me.
"You're carrying too much, sweetheart," he'd said. "Let me take the burden."
I'd thought it was love.
Now I wondered what kind of burden he wanted.
Mercer spoke.
"We're also examining his communications with the organization where you met."
I looked up.
"Cedar Bridge?"
"Yes."
"Have they cooperated?"
"They've provided an initial response. The organization says Mr. Garrity was a volunteer, not an authorized financial adviser."
I stared.
"He told me he was a senior counselor."
"That's inconsistent with what they've told us so far."
My stomach sank.
Two years.
Two years of believing he held a position he apparently never held.
Mercer continued.
"We've requested additional records regarding what personal information volunteers were permitted to access."
I looked down at the authorization form.
"Detective, how many women did he meet through that organization?"
"I don't have a reliable number."
"What if he approached others?"
"We're looking at that possibility. But I don't want to tell you something we can't substantiate."
I nodded.
Then he slid a final photograph across the table.
It showed a man standing beside Hollis at a charity event.
Mid-forties.
Dark hair.
Expensive navy suit.
A smile that didn't reach his eyes.
I recognized him from the public business record Meredith had found.
"Martin Vale," I said.
Mercer nodded.
"We confirmed their previous business relationship."
I studied the photograph.
Then noticed something behind the men.
A banner.
CEDAR BRIDGE FAMILY ASSISTANCE.
And beneath it, a date.
September 14.
Two years earlier.
The same week I'd attended my first support-group meeting.
I looked up.
"Hollis told me he started volunteering there after we met."
Mercer nodded slowly.
"That may not be accurate."
I stared at Martin Vale.
Then at Hollis.
The dates.
The trust.
The support group.
A sudden thought struck me.
"What if he didn't just happen to meet me there?"
Meredith looked at me.
"What do you mean?"
I swallowed.
"What if he already knew who I was?"
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Mercer closed the folder.
"That's a question worth investigating."
May you like
And I understood that the worst part of this story might not be what Hollis planned to do after our wedding.
It might be how long he'd been planning it before he ever spoke my name.
