Chapter 8 - THE CHOICE THAT PUT KRISTEN UNDER SUSPICION
Kristen's attorney advised her to tell detectives everything.
Even the parts that could hurt her.
Especially those.
She did.
The wooden garden handle was recovered inside the shed.
Tyler's DNA was on it.
So were Kristen's fingerprints.
The autopsy documented the shoulder bruise.
The neck scratches on Kristen.
The abrasions on Tyler's hands.
The broken chain.
The pendant in his fist.
Pieces of the story matched.
But telling the truth created new risk.
Kristen had struck Tyler.
She had pushed him.
He died.
The investigators could no longer treat her only as the woman rescued from confinement.
The district attorney's office would have to evaluate whether Tyler's death was self-defense, accident, or criminal homicide.
Kristen understood.
So did I.
Her mother did not.
Linda turned on me outside the attorney's office.
“Your family locks her up for two days, your brother attacks her, and now she's the one who has to defend herself?”
“I know.”
“No, Ethan. You keep saying that.”
She stepped closer.
“You knew your mother bullied her.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Tyler made her uncomfortable.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she was medically fragile.”
“Yes.”
“And you left.”
“I went to work.”
“You left her there.”
There was no useful defense.
Kristen stood behind her mother.
She didn't rescue me from the accusation.
That was another change.
Before the shed, Kristen would have softened any criticism of me to protect my feelings.
Now she let truth sit where it landed.
I made an irreversible decision of my own.
I gave detectives every message Kristen had ever sent me complaining about Mom or Tyler.
Some made me look terrible.
Please talk to your mother.
Tyler came into our room again.
I can't keep cleaning after everyone.
I'm scared stress is hurting the baby.
And my replies:
I'll handle it when I get back.
Don't let Mom get under your skin.
Tyler's just immature.
Please keep the peace until my trip is over.
The last one had been sent Monday.
One day before she was locked outside.
My attorney warned me those messages could end up in court.
“Good.”
He looked at me.
“You understand they also establish that you knew there were problems in the house.”
“Yes.”
That was the cost.
I could protect my reputation as a husband who hadn't known.
Or I could help establish Kristen's fear was not invented after Tyler died.
I chose the second.
Then police obtained Mom's phone.
One text to Tyler, sent Wednesday at 9:56 p.m., changed the investigation again.
Mom:
Go talk to her. Don't let her pull this victim act. Make her understand she doesn't run this family.
Tyler:
What if she screams?
Mom:
Then scare her.
No one could claim Tyler had entered the shed merely to deliver water anymore.
My mother had sent him in to intimidate her.
But there was another message.
Sent at 11:23.
Tyler to Mom:
May you like
She hit me.
It was the final text he ever sent.
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