Chapter 5: As a Family
The police arrived in two vehicles.
Four officers and one investigator who introduced himself as Delegado Ferreira, a compact man in his fifties with a careful way of listening that I recognized immediately — he was the kind of person who noted what was not said as much as what was.
Richard had arranged chairs in the sitting room.
He had placed himself and Julian on one side, me on the other, with Celeste in the corner chair slightly apart from the main group.
It was a small thing.
Most people would not have noticed the geometry.
I noticed.
Delegado Ferreira noticed too.
His eyes moved around the room once before he sat down.
"Mrs.
Thorne," he said, addressing me directly.
"I would like to hear from you first.
In your own words.
Beginning from when you boarded the boat this afternoon."
Richard shifted in his chair.
"We thought it might be better—"
"I was speaking to Mrs.
Thorne," Ferreira said, without raising his voice or changing his expression.
Richard sat back.
I told Ferreira everything.
I did not perform distress.
I did not soften the details.
I told him about the boat, the railing, the four steps Julian had taken across the deck, the sound of the engine accelerating after I went into the water, the exact words I had heard Julian say.
I told him about dragging myself out of the river, finding the survey trail, reaching the road, and arriving back at the lodge to find my husband and son mid-conversation about how to address the board of directors.
When I finished, Ferreira wrote something in his notebook.
Then he looked at Julian.
"Would you like to respond to what your mother has described?"
Julian crossed one leg over the other.
He looked at Ferreira with an expression of patient, measured concern.
"My mother had a terrifying experience today.
She went into the water, she struggled to reach the bank — that much is true.
We are incredibly relieved that she survived.
But what she is describing—" he paused, and the pause was perfectly timed — "is not what happened on that boat."
"Tell me what happened," Ferreira said.
"My mother lost her balance near the railing.
The current was rough.
The boat moved.
She went over before any of us could react.
We did attempt to stop — I reached for her, my father called her name.
But it happened very fast, and by the time we had turned the boat, we could not locate her in the water."
Ferreira looked at Richard.
"Is that accurate?"
"That is exactly what happened," Richard said.
Ferreira wrote again.
Then he turned to Celeste.
"And you?"
Celeste's hands were folded in her lap.
She was looking at a point on the floor approximately two feet in front of her chair.
"I came up from below deck when I heard the commotion," she said.
Her voice was flat.
Not composed — flat.
The sound of a person reciting something that had been prepared.
"By the time I reached the deck, Eleanor was already in the water."
"Did you see her go in?"
"No."
"Did you see your husband near the railing at that moment?"
A pause that lasted one beat too long.
"He was trying to reach her."
Ferreira closed his notebook.
He did not open it again.
He looked at Julian, then at Richard, then at me.
"Mrs.
Thorne," he said.
"You mentioned the guide, Mateus, was paid to remain behind today.
Do you know how to contact him?"
Julian's leg uncrossed.
It was a small movement.
I almost missed it.
"I don't have his number personally," I said.
"But I believe my attorney may be able to help coordinate that contact, if it would be useful."
"Your attorney," Ferreira repeated.
"Yes.
Diane Hollis.
She has been notified of this situation and is available to speak with you at your convenience.
Tonight, if necessary."
Richard's composure did not crack.
But something in the air of the room changed — a very slight pressure shift, the kind that happens when a situation that was expected to move in one direction quietly refuses to.
Julian was the one who spoke.
"Mom." His voice had dropped to something lower and more careful.
"There is no reason to involve attorneys tonight.
We're all upset.
We've all been through something frightening.
The police can do their investigation and we can talk more clearly tomorrow when—"
"Julian." I looked at him directly.
"We are past tomorrow."
Ferreira stood.
He spoke to one of his officers in Portuguese, too quickly for me to follow, then looked at the room.
"I will ask that everyone remain at this lodge tonight.
We will have further questions in the morning.
Mrs.
Thorne—" he turned to me — "I would strongly recommend you receive medical attention for your ankle this evening."
"I intend to," I said.
As Ferreira moved toward the door, he paused beside me and said, quietly enough that only I could hear: "My sister-in-law is a guide on this river.
She has worked with Mateus for twelve years." He looked at me for a moment.
"He is a very reliable man."
He said nothing else.
He walked out.
I did not look at Richard.
I did not look at Julian.
I looked at Celeste, who was still staring at the floor with her hands folded, and I watched her press her right thumbnail slowly, deliberately, into the skin of her opposite palm until it left a white crescent mark.
She knew something was unraveling.
She had known it the moment I walked through the door.
And later that night, at twenty minutes past eleven, while Richard and Julian were on a phone call they believed was private, there was a soft knock at my bedroom door.
When I opened it, Celeste was standing in the hallway in her robe.
Her face was pale and precise, the way faces look when a decision has finally been reached after a very long time of being unmade.
May you like
"I need to talk to you," she said.
"Before they realize I'm gone."
