The hospital fundraisers.
The clinic reception where he'd spoken about compassion and public service.
The way he'd shaken my hand and thanked me for helping people recover from neurological injuries.
I remembered thinking he was polished.
Successful.
The kind of man who seemed comfortable being admired.
Now investigators believed he had been behind the wheel of the vehicle that struck my wife's car.
I looked toward Sloane.
“How do you know?”
She explained that the evidence was broader than a single photograph.
Vehicle records, the archived video, communications from the relevant evening, repair documentation, and testimony from people familiar with the vehicle had been examined together.
Certain details corroborated one another.
The findings supported submitting the case to prosecutors for review.
I listened.
Then asked the question I'd been avoiding.
“Did he know what happened?”
Sloane's expression became serious.
“The evidence indicates the driver was aware of a collision.”
I stared.
“And he left?”
She paused.
“That is part of what the investigation has examined.”
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
I pictured Hannah's car against the barrier.
Ava crying in the back seat.
Kelly running through the snow.
And a wealthy man driving away.
Then anger hit me so hard I had to stand.
My sister caught my arm.
“Jeffrey.”
I looked toward the window.
For three years, I'd believed Hannah made a terrible mistake on an icy road.
Now a man who publicly praised family values appeared to have left the scene of a collision that killed her.
I wanted to find him.
I wanted to ask what sort of person could do that.
I wanted to make him look at the photographs of Ava in the hospital.
But my sister tightened her grip.
“Don't.”
I closed my eyes.
She whispered, “Ava needs you.”
The words reached me.
I sat.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then I looked toward Sloane.
“What happens now?”
She explained the next steps.
The evidence would be reviewed by prosecutors.
Witnesses might need to provide additional statements.
Independent technical evaluations would be completed.
And any charging decisions would depend on the applicable law and what could be proved.
She didn't promise justice.
Didn't promise a conviction.
And didn't tell me the past could be repaired.
I appreciated that.
Because the worst thing somebody could have offered me at that moment was another false certainty.