“We need to talk about your husband.”
I looked at them in confusion.
“My husband died five years ago.”
The junior officer nodded slowly.
“We know this.”
But please, look at this.”
He pulled a photo out of a clear evidence bag and handed it to me.
The moment I saw it, my knees went weak.
The photo shows a man standing in front of a convenience store in Phoenix, Arizona.
Grainy security footage.
Baseball cap.
Unkempt beard.
Elder.
Thinner.
But it was him.
Ethan Bennett.
My husband.
The man I buried.
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