Chapter 3 - The Perfect HusbandBy noon, every television station in Baltimore had Daniel’s arrest.
Not really.
I sat on the edge of my sister Rachel’s guest bed until sunrise with an ice pack pressed to my face and Daniel’s list burned into my thoughts.
Twelve names.
Eleven strangers.
Mine at the bottom.
Friday.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Daniel leaning over me.
Who are they going to believe?
For years, I had thought his greatest weapon was his reputation.
By morning, I understood I had underestimated him.
Detective Ortiz arrived at Rachel’s townhouse shortly after seven.
She carried two coffees and the expression of someone who had also been awake all night.
Rachel opened the door before she could knock.
“What did you find?”
“Let me talk to Claire first.”
“You can talk to both of us.”
“Rachel.”
My sister folded her arms.
She had been fighting Daniel long before I learned how.
Not physically.
She fought him by refusing to accept his charm.
The first time she met him, she told me there was something wrong behind his smile.
I had accused her of jealousy.
For six years, that sentence had haunted me.
Now Rachel sat beside me on the couch and gripped my hand.
Ortiz placed a folder on the coffee table.
“We identified eight of the eleven women.”
My stomach tightened.
“Were they employees?”
“Some.”
She opened the folder.
The first photograph showed a woman in her early thirties with dark curls and a warm smile.
“Melissa Crane. Former fundraising coordinator at Mercer House.”
I remembered her.
She left suddenly three years earlier.
Daniel told everyone she had stolen donation money.
“She disappeared,” Ortiz said.
Rachel inhaled sharply.
“What do you mean disappeared?”
“Her family reported her missing.”
My hand went cold.
Ortiz showed us another photograph.
“Dana Fuller. Former volunteer coordinator. She accused Daniel of inappropriate behavior four years ago.”
I remembered that too.
Daniel had come home furious.
He told me Dana was unstable.
Two weeks later, she withdrew the complaint and moved to Florida.
“She died in a car accident six months later,” Ortiz said.
Rachel looked at me.
Ortiz continued.
“Emily Rhodes. Donor relations. Resigned after eighteen months. Filed for a protective order against an unnamed man, then withdrew it.”
Another photograph.
Another name.
Another woman Daniel had mentioned casually over dinner.
Crazy.
Unreliable.
Difficult.
Disloyal.
The words I had accepted without question now sounded like labels he attached to women who frightened him.
“What is the list?” I asked.
“We don’t know.”
“And Friday?”
“We don’t know that either.”
I stood.
My body reacted before my mind did.
“We need to know.”
“We’re working on it.”
“Friday is two days away.”
“I know.”
“Daniel wrote Friday beside my name.”
“I know.”
Ortiz’s voice remained calm.
But something in her eyes told me she was more worried than she wanted to admit.
“What was on the phone?” Rachel asked.
“Mostly encrypted messages. Our cyber unit is working on it.”
“Mostly?”
Ortiz hesitated.
“There was one recent conversation we could access.”
“With who?”
“We don’t know yet. The contact is saved as ‘W.’”
She slid printed screenshots across the table.
My eyes went immediately to Daniel’s words.
She’s becoming difficult.
The reply:
Then finish it Friday.
Another message.
Same method?
Daniel:
Has to look natural.
I stopped breathing.
Rachel swore.
Ortiz leaned forward.
“Claire, we need to ask you some questions.”
I stared at the paper.
“Okay.”
“Do you have any medical conditions?”
“No.”
“Do you take prescriptions?”
“Just allergy medication sometimes.”
“Does Daniel prepare your food?”
“Sometimes.”
“Drinks?”
“Yes.”
Rachel squeezed my hand harder.
Ortiz continued.
“Has he recently encouraged you to update insurance documents?”
My head lifted.
Three weeks earlier, Daniel had placed paperwork beside my breakfast plate.
Estate planning.
That was what he called it.
He said married couples in our income bracket needed to be responsible.
I had signed several documents without reading them closely.
My stomach twisted.
“He had me sign something.”
Ortiz’s expression changed.
“What?”
“I thought it was estate paperwork.”
“How recently?”
“Three weeks.”
Rachel stood.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“Sit down,” Ortiz said.
“I’m serious.”
“And if you want to help your sister, you will stay far away from Daniel.”
Rachel paced toward the window.
Ortiz turned back to me.
“We need copies.”
“They’ll be in Daniel’s office.”
“We seized his computers and files.”
“My signature…”
“We’ll examine everything.”
I looked at the bruises on my wrist.
A horrible thought formed.
“What if he was going to kill me?”
No one answered immediately.
That silence was worse than any answer.
Ortiz finally said, “We don’t know.”
“But you think it’s possible.”
“I think Daniel expected something to happen Friday.”
My phone rang.
All three of us jumped.
Rachel looked at the screen.
“No caller ID.”
“Don’t answer,” Ortiz said.
The phone stopped.
Ten seconds later, it rang again.
Same number.
Ortiz took it.
“This is Detective Ortiz.”
Silence.
Then a woman’s voice came through the speaker.
“Is Claire there?”
Ortiz exchanged a look with me.
“Who is this?”
“I need to talk to Claire.”
“What’s your name?”
The woman breathed quickly.
“You found the list, didn’t you?”
I stood.
Ortiz’s posture sharpened.
“How do you know about the list?”
A pause.
“Because my name is on it.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“What’s your name?” Ortiz repeated.
“Rebecca Hale.”
Ortiz glanced down at the folder.
Then turned a page.
Rebecca Hale.
Number seven.
“Where are you?” Ortiz asked.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Are you safe?”
“No.”
The word was barely audible.
Then Rebecca said something that changed everything.
“Daniel isn’t the one you should be most afraid of.”
My throat tightened.
“Who is?”
“You think Daniel started Mercer House to help abused women.”
A bitter laugh.
“He didn’t.”
“Why did he start it?”
“So he could find them.”
Rachel covered her mouth.
Ortiz leaned toward the phone.
“Rebecca, listen to me. We can protect you.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Who is W?”
Silence.
“Rebecca?”
A noise sounded on her end.
A door opening.
Then a man’s voice somewhere behind her.
Rebecca gasped.
Before the call disconnected, she whispered three words.
“Check the basement.”
The line went dead.
Ortiz immediately called dispatch.
I stared at her.
“What basement?”
She froze.
Mercer House occupied a renovated nineteenth-century building downtown.
Three floors.
Offices.
Counseling rooms.
Emergency beds.
And a basement Daniel had always told me was used for archived records.
Ortiz stood.
“Rachel, lock the door after us.”
“Us?”
She looked at me.
“You’re not coming.”
“I know that building better than anyone.”
“No.”
“I designed part of the renovation.”
Ortiz stopped.
I had almost forgotten.
Before I quit working after Daniel insisted my career was “putting stress on our marriage,” I had been an interior architect.
Daniel hired my old firm for Mercer House.
I had walked every corridor before construction began.
“There’s an old service tunnel,” I said.
Ortiz stared at me.
“What?”
“From Prohibition. The original owner used it to move liquor between buildings.”
“Where does it go?”
“The basement of the building next door.”
Ortiz grabbed her radio.
Within minutes, police were moving toward Mercer House.
I stayed with Rachel.
But two hours later, Ortiz called.
Her voice sounded different.
Not afraid.
Angry.
“Claire.”
“What happened?”
“We searched the basement.”
I held my breath.
“And?”
“There was a hidden room behind the archive shelves.”
My knees weakened.
“What was inside?”
“Cameras.”
I closed my eyes.
“Files.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“And photographs of women staying at the shelter.”
I felt sick.
Then Ortiz added:
“We also found Rebecca Hale.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Relief broke through me.
But it lasted only seconds.
“Claire, Rebecca told us what Friday means.”
I didn’t want to ask.
I did anyway.
“What?”
“Daniel planned to take you to your lake house.”
I remembered him telling me two weeks earlier that we needed a quiet weekend away.
Just us.
No phones.
No Rachel.
No interruptions.
May you like
Ortiz’s next words turned my blood cold.
“He had already hired someone to make sure you never came home.”
