Taking You HOME | EN

Chapter 42 - Conclusions

Again and again, he stumbled across the diagnosis of concussion, together with the doctors' note that a large number of bruises in various stages of healing had been detected during treatment. Sometimes, there was still the accompanying form on which the areas were marked on a sketch. In most cases, however, this was missing. Just as there were many gaps in the forms. In addition, he could not always find a reason for the accident.

Only a few contained an explanation: she had bumped herself, clumsily got stuck on the edge of a cupboard, or fallen down a flight of stairs.

Ray dropped the sheets momentarily; his gaze wandered back to the room door, and his mind wandered. Of course, he had noticed that Eve seemed awkward in some situations. The young woman would reach for something, stumble over a rug, or get stuck on a step when climbing the stairs. Nevertheless, he had overheard the conversation between the good-looking medical student and her:

»I'm sure it's still unfamiliar...« the doctor had said. The words meant that Eve had not always been blind in one eye and that these circumstances could be related to the injury to her face. But the reports were simply too old for that. It just didn't add up.

Sometimes, the mind coiled around an explanation like a snake when you just didn't want to face the solution.

Ray stroked his chin and the beard that adorned his chin area thoughtfully as he turned a few more pages, skipping over some incomplete reports and treatments.

»Kaylen Conner, broken wrist after falling down stairs,« he finally read.

Interested, he paused to read in more detail. This form was at least a little more carefully filled out than the others—finally, a document with more content. The case was almost two years old. He turned to the next page with his eyes fixed on the date.

»Pain and hematoma on the right ribcage,« he murmured quietly. »Diagnosis: fracture of the sixth rib.« His eyes fell on the date.

Blinking, he had to look again before he was sure he hadn't made a mistake. Panting, he expelled the breath he had just been holding. The two cases were only nine days apart.

And worse, both times, Dylan had driven his wife to the hospital and arranged for her discharge.

Ray froze. »No. It can't be,« he muttered, his fingers trembling as he looked at the forms repeatedly. But nothing changed.

»Fuck!« he cursed quietly to himself as the dark suspicion began to germinate inside him. Slowly, his uneasy feeling began to make sense. The pieces of the puzzle, which had previously been lying in front of him in complete disarray, began to fit together to form a picture that he had never considered before, only because Dylan had been his comrade and friend:

Domestic violence.

»Shit,« Ray muttered, running a hand over his forehead. In any other case, he would have considered that possibility. In theory, a detective with fewer scruples couldn't care less for what reason he was doing a job or whether he was helping a pig or an innocent. A job was a job. But Ryker was a man who could afford to pick and choose his cases - and not for the reward. He had morals and would never have accepted dirty work.

But here, he hadn't even thought about whether Dylan might be hiding something from him. But now?

Suddenly, the thought wasn't so far-fetched. Eve had run away. With her son, who, contrary to Dylan's claims, was not mistreated but looked after and cared for by her like a king. She went into hiding, far away from civilization. Took on a different name. This is not only fitting for a child abductor... but also for a mother who fled from her husband.

And the file, alone in its fullness, also cried out for it. The bruises, contusions, concussions, and, above all, the broken rib made this conclusion seem almost as sure as the Amen in church. What had seemed absurd before suddenly made bitter bile rise in his throat.

'Could Dylan have done this to her? Could he have beaten her?'

Just the thought of it made his blood run cold, and his anger boil at the same time. How well did he really know Dylan? Could he trust him to do that?

No. No, that COULDN'T be true!

Bloody hell!

If his guess about the key was correct, then Dylan was already here. That explained the damn box instead of him showing up on his doorstep in person.

Groaning, Ryker dropped the sheet of paper from his hand. He felt it rustling into his lap as he slid down the back of the chair and lay on the cushion. His hands ran over his eyes and into his thick brown hair as a hint of despair rose within him.

»What have I let myself in for?« he said quietly to himself, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. »None of this makes any sense. He has enough contacts of his own. But it was so important to him that he asked me for help...«

Slowly, his gaze lowered again and fell on the sky-blue comforter cover on which the sheets were now resting. Dylan knew without a doubt that Ryker wouldn't allow him to harm a woman and a child. Had Dylan thought he wouldn't find out? Had Dylan expected him to find Kaylen and the boy, slip him the info, and then disappear again? Was all the panicked worry just an act?

»No,« Ray whispered and was sure of it. No one could act that well. Especially not Dylan. Ray had almost felt his former comrade's despair through the phone during their first conversation. But the paper couldn't lie. What was going on here? What was the truth?

Groaning, he slapped his hand over his face again. His thoughts went around in circles and were finally as mixed up as the sticks at the Mikado.

What should he do now?

He couldn't tell Eve, but at the same time, it wouldn't be long before Dylan was inevitably at the door, and this ticking time bomb went off. One thing was sure:

He was in deep shit.