The Stranger Beside You by William Casey Moreton Page A

email detailing the exact location of the body.  Then, a few days later, the same anonymous source sent this, again by email.”
    Chapman tapped the manila envelope with his index finger. 
    I stared at the envelope, my heart racing.  I pulled it to the edge of the desk and removed the photo.  My world stopped.  It was a photo of a man and woman kissing on a city street.  The man was my husband, but the woman was not me.  I stopped breathing.  Suddenly everything I had ever believed shattered before me like crystal.  All that I held as irrevocable truth simply exploded.  I had always viewed the world as mostly black and white, but now there was only gray.  Deep, dense, impenetrable gray, and I was lost in the middle of it.
    I steadied myself.  “Where did you get this?”
    “Like I said, an anonymous source.  It arrived as a JPEG file.”
    “Who is that woman?”  I couldn’t take my eyes off the photo.
    “Special Agent Daphne Fleming.”
    “It’s a fake.”
    Chapman shook his head.  “I’m sorry.  Our expects have confirmed it’s the real thing.”
    “Someone could have Photo-shopped it.”
    “It’s a hundred percent authentic.”
    “Where was it taken?”
    “We don’t know.  Our people have gone over it a thousand different ways.  There are no visible street signs, and nothing that provides any kind of specific location.  It could be any city in the world.  For the moment we’re going on the assumption they were here in New York.”
    It was a humiliating moment.  More than anything in the world, I wanted to be able to look at the image in the photo and declare without hesitation that the man was most definitely not my husband.  But he was.  I was staring at Tom.  Their faces were pressed together and their embrace was intense and passionate.  He had one hand around her back, pulling her body into his, the other hand buried in her hair. 
    For an instant, as the reality of the image hit me like a sledgehammer and white hot rage boiled up, I was glad he was dead.  But then, just as quickly as the emotion had arrived, I forced it away.
    “Oh my God,” I groaned.
    “I’m sorry it had to be this way,” Chapman said.
    “There has to be an explanation.  Tom loved me.”
    “I’m sure he did, but he was human.  Most of us have done stupid things that we later come to regret.”
    “Tom loved me,” I repeated.
    Chapman reclined back in his chair again.  He exchanged another look with Clive.
    Clive said.  “Brynn, I’m certain Tom never intended to hurt you.”
    “Tell me about the woman,” I demanded.
    Chapman nodded.  He opened his desk drawer again and produced an eight-by-ten glossy.  He slapped the photo down on the desktop and pushed it toward me.  What I saw was a gorgeous blonde with penetrating blue eyes and full lips.
    “Daphne Lauren Fleming.  Thirty-two years of age at the time of her death.  Graduated at the top of her class at Quantico.  Worked in LA and Chicago before transferring here a couple of years ago.  She grew up in a wheat field in Kansas.  Both her parents are still alive and still live on the farm where she was raised.  Three older brothers, two in the states and the third is in the Special Forces, currently serving in Afghanistan.  Special Agent Fleming never married.  She was a class act.  The FBI is deeply saddened to have lost her.”
    I stared into her blue eyes.  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see how Tom would have been attracted to her.  A sudden jealous pang hit me in the middle of my chest, and for an instant I was glad she was dead too.  I wanted to crawl into a dark hole and cry.
     “A third email told us where to find the murder weapon.  It was a gun, registered under your husband’s name,” Chapman said.
     “Someone obviously found out about the relationship,” I said without looking up.  “And that someone cared enough to catch them on camera, but Why?”
    “I don’t have an answer to that.”
    “And