Chapter 4 - The Grieving Husband on Television
By nine the next morning, Preston Shaw was on television.
I watched from a hospital room that had been temporarily reassigned under additional privacy precautions.
Detective Kline had asked the staff to limit access to our medical information while investigators assessed the danger.
It wasn't perfect protection.
Preston had money.
Connections.
Employees who answered his calls at all hours.
But for the moment, he didn't know where we were.
On the television, he stood outside the marina wearing the same charcoal sweater he'd worn when he pushed me into the Atlantic.
His hair was neatly combed.
His face looked pale.
A crowd of reporters surrounded him.
Someone asked what had happened.
Preston lowered his eyes.
"My wife and daughter were swept overboard during an unexpected incident."
I gripped the blanket.
A reporter asked whether he had tried to save us.
His voice cracked.
"Of course."
I felt sick.
"I did everything I could."
Behind him, the Silver Meridian sat secured at the dock.
Its stern lights were off.
Its polished hull gleamed beneath the morning sun.
Preston placed one hand against his mouth.
"I keep thinking about my little girl."
His voice broke again.
"She was wearing her favorite orange life jacket."
A reporter whispered something.
Preston nodded.
"Her mother put it on her before we left."
He paused.
Then said the sentence that made me stop breathing.
"I don't know how I'll live without them."
I threw the remote across the bed.
It struck the wall.
A nurse hurried in.
I barely noticed.
"He's lying!"
My voice echoed through the room.
"He's standing there lying about what he did!"
The nurse reached for my hand.
"Mrs. Shaw—"
"He tried to kill her!"
My chest tightened.
"He tried to kill my little girl, and they're standing there feeling sorry for him!"
The nurse didn't tell me to calm down.
She sat beside me until I could breathe normally again.
When Detective Kline arrived, I was staring at the television with the sound muted.
"I saw," she said.
I looked at her.
"Are you going to arrest him?"
"We're moving toward that."
"Moving?"
"Meredith, I understand how that sounds."
"Then explain it."
She pulled a chair close.
"We have your statement, and we have Ivy's preliminary account. We also have the rescue information. We need the remaining electronic evidence processed, and we're seeking warrants for records and property."
"He admitted he wanted us dead."
"To you."
"Isn't that enough?"
"It's significant. We want an arrest and a case strong enough to hold up through trial, particularly if he claims you misunderstood an accident or were disoriented by cold-water exposure."
I looked back at the screen.
Preston was embracing a woman outside the marina.
Celeste Wynn.
Her face was pressed against his shoulder.
A caption beneath them identified her as a longtime family friend.
I laughed bitterly.
"She's enjoying herself."
Kline followed my gaze.
"That's Celeste?"
"Yes."
"The woman from the messages?"
"Yes."
Kline studied the screen.
"She may know more than she's saying."
"She helped him plan it."
"We're examining her involvement."
I turned toward the detective.
"Then why is she standing beside him?"
"Because neither of them knows exactly what we have."
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then I asked, "What if they run?"
Kline didn't answer immediately.
That silence frightened me more than anything she could have said.
Later that morning, Hannah arrived.
She entered the room, took one look at me, and burst into tears.
I had never seen Hannah cry in twenty years.
She crossed the room and hugged me carefully.
"I thought I was too late."
I closed my eyes.
"You weren't."
"I called everyone I could."
"I know."
"When I heard the Coast Guard had found you—"
Her voice broke.
I pulled back.
"We're alive because you introduced me to Grace."
"You're alive because you listened."
I shook my head.
"No. Ivy listened."
Hannah smiled through tears.
"Then your daughter is the bravest person I know."
For the next hour, we discussed what came next.
Hannah had filed emergency custody and protective petitions.
She was arranging representation for the trust litigation.
A criminal attorney was helping coordinate the evidence.
Preston's financial accounts were being examined through lawful investigative processes.
And the forged amendment was now under formal challenge.
But Hannah had more news.
"Someone has been asking questions about you."
I looked up.
"Who?"
"A private investigator named Victor Sloane."
I frowned.
"Preston uses him for corporate background checks."
"He contacted my office yesterday."
"What did he want?"
"He asked whether I had met with you during the last month."
My skin prickled.
"What did you tell him?"
"That I don't discuss clients."
"Did he believe you?"
"I don't care."
I looked toward the hospital door.
"Does Preston know we're alive?"
"Not from me."
"But Sloane is looking."
Hannah nodded.
"He may be trying to determine how much evidence you collected before the boat trip."
I thought of the life jacket.
The memory card.
The files.
"He doesn't know where it is."
"Let's keep it that way."
That afternoon, Detective Kline returned with Marcus Bell.
They brought a sealed evidence photograph showing the jacket and the recovered beacon.
My throat tightened when I saw the orange fabric.
There was a dark stain near the shoulder.
Saltwater had stiffened the straps.
One of the reflective patches was peeling.
It looked like an ordinary piece of children's safety equipment.
But to me, it was the most precious thing in the world.
Bell placed the photograph on the table.
"Mrs. Shaw, the memory card was recovered from the sealed compartment you described."
I sat forward.
"Is it damaged?"
"Initial examination indicates the storage media is readable. The forensic team is preserving the original and creating a verified working copy."
I exhaled.
"Thank God."
Kline opened a folder.
"We compared the files with material your attorney preserved. Some of the documents appear to match. Others require independent verification from banks, insurers, and service providers."
She paused.
"One file is particularly important."
"What file?"
"A PDF labeled Amendment Four."
I nodded.
"The trust amendment."
"Yes."
I looked at Hannah.
"That's the forged one."
Kline turned another page.
"The scanned document includes a notarial acknowledgment with Elaine Carver's name."
"She told me Preston forced her."
"We've requested an interview."
My stomach tightened.
"Will she talk?"
"We're working on it."
Then Bell said, "There was also a spreadsheet."
I frowned.
"What spreadsheet?"
"Vessel operating expenses, fuel purchases, and marina reservations. It contains dates extending several months back."
I remembered seeing something similar in Preston's office.
He had called it a maintenance budget.
Bell continued.
"Several entries appear to correspond with planned trips offshore."
"That's normal, isn't it?"
"It can be."
He exchanged a glance with Kline.
"But there are handwritten notes in one scanned page discussing distances from shore and estimated travel times."
I felt nauseated.
"He's been planning this for months."
"That's something we're investigating."
Hannah leaned forward.
"Is there evidence of another person aboard?"
Bell hesitated.
"There are indications someone had access to the yacht in the days before the incident. We haven't established who."
I thought of Celeste.
The woman at the marina.
Her arms around Preston.
Her face full of pretend concern.
"Check the marina cameras," I whispered.
"We are."
Kline closed the folder.
"There's another matter."
I looked at her.
"Your husband made a statement to local officers late last night."
I held my breath.
"He says you were behaving erratically before the incident."
Hannah straightened.
"What?"
"He claims you were upset about marital problems, refused to sit down while the yacht was underway, and took Ivy outside during rough conditions."
I stared at her.
"He pushed me."
"I believe you understand what he's alleging."
"He was setting up a defense."
Kline nodded slightly.
"He also claims you had been drinking champagne."
I nearly laughed.
"I didn't have a drop."
"Do you know whether any unopened or partially consumed beverages were left aboard?"
"I don't know."
"He's suggested that your behavior caused the accident."
Hannah's voice became sharp.
"Her medical records will show whether she consumed alcohol."
Kline nodded.
"Relevant testing and medical evidence will be reviewed."
I looked at the detective.
"He planned everything."
"Possibly more than we knew when we started."
Then she asked a question that changed the direction of the investigation.
"Mrs. Shaw, did your husband ever discuss replacing the yacht's tracking equipment?"
I thought back.
"Six months ago. He said the old system wasn't reliable."
"Did he hire anyone?"
"A marine electronics company. I don't remember the name."
"Can you find out?"
I closed my eyes.
Preston had always told me not to worry about the bills.
But I had once been a forensic accountant.
And there was one thing he had forgotten.
I remembered numbers.
Not every number.
But the unusual ones.
I opened my eyes.
"Three thousand eight hundred forty dollars."
Kline frowned.
"Excuse me?"
"The invoice. It was for $3,840."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. Preston complained the technician charged too much to install a backup navigation recorder."
Bell leaned forward.
"A backup recorder?"
I nodded.
"He said the device automatically stored route and engine data because the manufacturer wanted diagnostics."
Bell's expression changed.
"Do you know where it was installed?"
I closed my eyes again.
I remembered our anniversary dinner the previous year.
Preston had taken me aboard to show off the upgrades.
A technician had left a panel open beneath the helm.
There had been a small black unit inside.
Blue indicator lights.
A label with three letters.
I opened my eyes.
"VDR."
Bell looked at Kline.
"Possibly a voyage data recorder or a proprietary logging system."
"Would it show where the yacht went?"
"Depending on the equipment, it may contain navigation and operational data. We need to examine it."
I felt a surge of hope.
Preston could lie about what happened.
He could stage his grief.
He could claim I drank too much.
But perhaps somewhere beneath the helm was a machine that didn't care how charming he was.
A machine that remembered the truth.
Bell stood.
"I need to make a call."
He left the room.
Kline looked at me.
"Meredith, was Preston aware you knew about that equipment?"
"No."
"Then it's something we should check quickly."
I nodded.
But before I could answer, Hannah's phone vibrated.
She glanced at the screen.
Her face changed.
"What?" I asked.
She didn't speak.
"Hannah?"
She turned the phone toward me.
It was a message from an unknown number.
A photograph.
My house.
Our front door.
And beneath it, five words.
Tell Meredith the jacket matters.
I stared at the screen.
Hannah whispered, "How does somebody know about the jacket?"
I couldn't breathe.
There were only a few possibilities.
Grace.
Hannah.
The investigators.
Or someone who had been watching me when I sewed it.
Then a second message arrived.
Preston didn't plan this alone.
A third followed.
Ask Celeste who was on the boat Tuesday night.
Hannah looked at Detective Kline.
"What do we do?"
Kline took the phone.
"We preserve these messages and trace what we can."
I looked at the photograph again.
Our house.
The front door.
The flowerpots I'd arranged with Ivy two weeks earlier.
The place where we had once felt safe.
And suddenly I realized the worst part of Preston's plan might not have been the money.
It might have been the people willing to help him collect it.
That evening, the local news announced a candlelight vigil for Meredith and Ivy Shaw.
Preston would attend.
Celeste would stand beside him.
Hundreds of people were expected.
And while they prepared to mourn us, a marine electronics technician working with investigators made a discovery aboard the Silver Meridian.
The yacht's primary navigation display had been reset.
Its recent route history had been cleared.
But beneath the helm, behind a panel secured with four screws, sat a separate logging unit.
May you like
Its indicator light was still blinking.
And its memory had not been erased.
