That was the latest TV news report.
Staring at the screen, Greg absorbed the enormity of events, not yet fully comprehending what had happened.
Only that it had.
Triggered by Kozak’s call to him at the cemetery, Greg had acted fast and pulled Jake from school. He was grateful that Kat was able to leave work, pick up Vince, and get over to the house. In the brief calm preceding the storm, Greg had sat them down and told them that Jenn could very well be alive because she had not died in Cleveland; the person they buried was someone related to her.
“So she really could be alive?” Vince asked.
“Yes, that’s what Kozak told me.”
“But this can’t be,” Kat said. “She has no relatives.”
“I know, I can’t believe it,” Greg said. “I’ve known Jenn since we were kids. I spent so much time with her at her grandmother’s house. I never saw or heard of any other family members, and they both told me there were no other relatives, just Jenn and her grandma.”
Jake said nothing, his face tensing in his effort to understand what he was hearing. Kat put her arm around him, pulling him close to her.
“If they made a mistake with the DNA the first time,” Vince said, “then maybe this is a mistake, too?”
“Kozak assured me it’s not,” Greg said. “She said it had been checked and rechecked and checked again by the FBI’s experts in Quantico.”
“Then we should thank God,” Vince said. “Isn’t this what we prayed for?”
Jake nodded with a sudden realization. “My wish on the angel chime came true! Mom is not dead!”
Greg brushed the top of Jake’s head.
“We have to remember that this also means that someone else died. Someone related to Mom.”
“But who?” Vince asked.
That’s when the calls started. The first was a reporter with the Buffalo News, then a local radio station, seeking Greg’s reaction. Then Al Clayton, then their neighbor, Holly Wiley, then Liz Miller from Jenn’s book club, then a teacher from the school, all of them wanting to know if it was true. A producer from CNN called, requesting Greg give a live interview with one of the network’s anchors in New York City. Greg declined. The doorbell rang. Vince went to the window.
“It’s the press. Two—no, three—news trucks out front, and another one arriving.”
“Kat, get the door. Tell them we can’t comment at this time,” Greg said. “Don’t answer any questions, leave it with me.”
Then Greg turned on the TV.
Jumping from channel to channel, he found the first of the breaking news reports while his landline phone continued ringing. Kat answered the calls. Now, she was holding the cordless receiver when she came to Greg and he turned to her.
“It’s the New York Times,” she said.
Greg shook his head, stopped, changed his mind and took the phone.
“Is this Greg Griffin, Jennifer Griffin’s husband?”
“Yes.”
“Sue Williams, New York Times. We’re doing a story on the development in your wife’s case and I’m seeking your response.”
“I’m shocked, like everyone.”
“Mr. Griffin, how did you learn of the misreading of your wife’s DNA?”
“A detective on the case called me.”
“Where were you and what were you doing when you got the call?”
“Visiting my wife’s grave.”
“Really? You were at the cemetery just before police declared it a crime scene?”
Greg said nothing as Williams continued.
“What thoughts went through your mind when the detective informed you that your wife had not been killed in Cleveland?”
“Disbelief.” Greg took a moment. “While it compounds the tragedy, it breaks our hearts because it raises so many questions. At the same time, it gives us hope. I really have nothing more to say.”
“But Mr. Griffin, do you have any idea who was killed in Cleveland?”
“No.”
“One last thing. Mr. Griffin, do you feel police still consider you a suspect in your wife’s disappearance?”
Anger surged but Greg got in front of it.
“Ask them,” he said. “That’s all I have to—”
“Mr. Griffin, there are sources in New York and Ohio who tell us that some investigators feel strongly that you should be charged. What’s your reaction?”
Greg hung up.
He sat on the sofa, staring at the phone, holding one hand over his face. That’s when he saw Jake at the window, curtain pulled aside, looking at the growing collection of newspeople out front. Greg saw the cameras, on tripods, on shoulders, one photographer in a white van with a long lens, all of them aimed at the house, aimed at Jake. Likely zooming right into the living room like powerful, prying eyes, Greg thought.
“Jake, close the curtain and get away from the window,” Greg said, then resumed staring at the phone in his hand.
Vince took Jake into the kitchen and Kat joined her brother on the sofa, placing her hand on his knee.
“What is it? Does that New York Times reporter know something?”
Greg shook his head, shifting his thoughts.
“The thing with Porter Sellwin,” Greg said, “when you saw him with Jenn.”
“Did the reporter know something about that?”
“No. But for some reason I was thinking back to what you said about it.”
“I said I was sorry about that.”
“No, not that, but it just struck me again.”
“What?”
“A couple of things Sellwin said to me were weird. Like when I first confronted him after you told me. One of the things he said to me was ‘I don’t know what Jennifer told you.’ It was odd, out of place, almost like he was expecting to be confronted, you know?”
“That is weird.”
“Then at the funeral, he offered condolences then said, ‘Jennifer will always have a special place in my heart.’ It just struck me, given the tone he used, as an odd, rather intimate thing to say. I just don’t—”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Kat said.
“I don’t know myself. All right, so maybe Sellwin’s a touchy-feely creep with a reputation. I mean, you suspected Jenn was cheating with him and argued with her about it, right?”