Deanna’s words were my fuel to each step I took on the cement. Focusing on her voice was all that I could do to keep from passing out. I had this daydream in my head that all of the pain I had felt over the last few weeks was going to magically disappear. If this letter was true, if he was truly alive, then my heart was going to be on the mend. I felt that I was saved from a lifetime of tears and pain. I was going to be whole again.

“Dana?” The sound of my name prompted my thoughts to return to reality. “Are you listening to me?” Deanna’s words were calm and her voice soothing, but still direct. That was something I could always count on her for; it didn’t matter what the topic, she was going to give it to you straight. Some people would shy away from this type of friendship, but I had always come to appreciate it, especially now. “Dana. I need you to hear my words and truly comprehend what I am saying. There is no possible way that this letter came from you father. I know this is not what you want to hear, but it doesn’t add up.” I could hear the sympathy in her voice, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. No words came out. But I think she knew that, because she used the sound of my heavy breath as a sign that I was still listening and continued. “I know that this must have been a moment of hope for you, but we need to be realistic about this situation. You saw your father’s body in that casket. You read that police report. Dana, it detailed every line of ink of his tattoos and each scar that was left on his body from surgeries and injuries throughout his life. This is not a romance novel, this is life, and I think you know that the words I am telling you are the real truth.” I nodded my head to say yes, before I realized she was on the phone and couldn’t see me. I managed to croak out a “yes” through my tears, but that was about it. We sat in silence on the phone for a few minutes, I was trying to gather my thoughts and get my sobs under control. I was pretty sure I could hear her trying to wipe away her own tears, but I never did ask. I knew I had to speak to her so that we could work this out together. “So then who would have sent it?” My question seemed so small, but it packed a lot of of punch. “Who would have known all those intimate details about our relationship enough to forge the words? Who the hell would have been able to copy his handwriting so explicitly?” I was finding both my voice and my anger as I continued to speak. “And who the fuck is so heartless to give me even the smallest sense of hope for him to be alive? Is this a fucking joke to someone, or is there really a reason?” My face was warm now, I could feel my body temperature rising internally and trying to fight the cool air around it. Deanna remained as calm as possible while I screamed my questions. She knew that my anger was misdirected, and that I didn’t really want answers, I wanted it to be true.

“I think you should show Steve the letter. See what his reaction is. I don’t know if he wrote it,  but I think you are going to find more out by showing it to him. Dana, if you really believe that McCrabben and Steve are working together, then I think this letter was a way for one of them to screw the other. Being as they are both money hungry pieces of shit, I think that splitting your inheritance has made them both rethink their original plan. People like them, well they think of the biggest gain possible. And if that means one of them has to fuck over the other to get the whole pie instead of just a piece, well then I think they would try something….. even something this drastic.” Her words made sense to me as I listened, but I was fighting my internal voice that was pleading with me to just believe that he was in fact alive. It was what I wanted, but I knew that this was my imagination that wanted me to believe. The frontal cortex of my brain was where I needed to focus my energy, I needed to think about what was plausible, and determine the truth. “My money is on McCrabben,”  I said. “Let’s face it, women learn all sorts of things about the men we spend time with, especially if we have and agenda all along. She knew about our relationship, and I would only take a few martinis for her to get some of the personal information out of him. Anyone could do the handwriting if they had a sample. But she would have needed a fairly large writing sample for someone to make it this believable.” I felt a sudden rush of energy to my brain and I had to place my hands on a nearby tree to steady my legs. My whole body began trembling under my weight and slowly I slid down to the concrete sidewalk to rest. Holy fuck. I couldn’t believe I would have ever missed this, of course she had a fucking writing sample. My thoughts were spinning back to the night of his death and all of the things I had learned in such a short time. “Dana, are you okay? You sound like you have been running.” Deanna seemed concerned, and probably so did my neighbors passing in their cars along the street where I was now sitting. “I can’t fucvking believe I didn’t think of this before! I was practically screaming into the phone now. She had an intimate writing sample all right, the damn suicide note.” My face burned with the anger of not only realizing there was motive, but understanding now that my letter was a fraud. I had held so much anger over the last few weeks that McCrabben had received the last piece of writing, his last thoughts and emotions, addressed solely to her. I had of course seen the note, but I was angry that I too was not given a last thought. It was then that I realized I had been wanting so desperately to believe that the letter I held in my hands was real because that meant that he had loved me just as much, and that I was there in his mind right before he passed. Now, not only did I not have a token of his emotion to hang onto, I had a forged piece of shit. It was like holding a cubic zirconia in your hand that was supposed to be a match to the prestigious Hope Diamond. I wanted to throw the letter into the sewer drain and let it wash away with all the other shit, literally. But I knew it was a vital piece of evidence that was ultimately going to help me find my justice and peace.

“He didn’t love you any less Dana, just because he didn’t have a chance to write it down.” There it was, that 21 years of friendship at work, it was like she was in my head. “You know in your heart what is real and true, and you can feel that he loved you. Please don’t allow this to keep you from the path of justice. You know what you have to do.” She was always the voice of reason when I needed one, especially when I didn’t particularly want one.

“Thank you. I am going to use my walk home to steady my thoughts and get my emotions under control. I think you are right about the greed overtaking the original plan, and I am going to find out. Steve will be home soon and I plan to show him the letter. I will use his reaction to find out more. I don’t think I can do this all on my own anymore though, it might be time to hire someone. I only have ten days until he expects me to leave with him. If I do, I might never get back. And if I don’t, well then he might disappear forever.” I was talking more to myself than to Deanna, but she understood and just listened for a while.

“Didn’t you have that one friend that you used to bartend with that became a police officer?” Deanna asked. “Maybe she could help you find someone reliable to hire, and quick.” 

With all of the emotion and activity, I had completely forgotten about Jen as a resource. We had worked together for a while at a bar on the Riverwalk, and she had recently become a San Antonio police officer. She was a wonderful friend and would be a great contact to have, especially now. “You are brilliant!” 

I said goodbye to Deanna for now, and began my walk back to the house. I could feel the tears begin to dry on my cheeks, and in their place a small smile began to form. Even though I now knew this wasn’t a real letter, I had learned some valuable information to help me seek justice for my father. As I walked I scrolled through the contacts in my phone until I came to Jen’s number. She answered after a few rings and I gave her a very small synopsis of my current situation. In short, I got the number to a great local private investigator, and some hope for my plan. Jen said to keep her in the loop and to call with anything I needed. I knew I wouldn’t do that to her, but it was nice to have someone from the police force on my side just in case.

I checked my watch. I had about three hours until Steve would return. That seemed like enough time to pull together some sort of makeup and clothes and make an appointment to meet with the PI. If I was going to show Steve the letter, I needed to know what he was going to do with that information afterwards, and that was something I wasn’t going to be able to accomplish alone.

I stopped on the corner of my street and sat along the curb to make my final call. The man on the other end was nice after I gave him Jen’s full name, and within minutes we had an appointment to meet at Starbuck’s in an hour. It didn’t seem very discreet, but I figured there would be more to it when I got there. This was my first tangle with a PI, so who was I to judge protocol? My last few steps to the house were a bit lighter than the ones I had taken on my way out. Maybe I was driven by the idea that I was finally going to get some closure, or maybe it was Dad holding me up. I wasn’t much of a believer in angels, but I knew if they did exist, he was definitely one of the best. I guess sometimes you have to make yourself believe, so that you have the strength to continue.