Chapter 4 - The Man at Mile Marker 17Detective Marcus Reed did not react the way I expected.
The first ending had happened when Claire died.
The second happened when I heard my husband say she should have burned inside her car.
Ryan kissed my forehead before leaving for work.
“You should rest today.”
“I will.”
“Don't go back to Claire's apartment.”
My heart kicked.
“Why not?”
He buttoned his cuff.
“Because you're torturing yourself.”
His tone was gentle.
Perfectly reasonable.
That frightened me more than anger would have.
“I need to sort her belongings eventually.”
“Eventually isn't today.”
He touched my face.
“Promise?”
I smiled.
“I promise.”
Ryan left at seven fifteen.
At seven seventeen, I locked every door.
At seven twenty, I called Jenna.
“Come get me.”
She arrived twenty-two minutes later.
Neither of us spoke until we were three miles away.
Then I told her everything.
The photographs.
The trust documents.
The phone message.
The conversation in Ryan's office.
Jenna gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white.
“I knew Claire was scared.”
“You knew?”
“Not everything.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That Ryan had lied about his past. That she thought he was watching her. That she needed more proof.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
“She made me promise.”
“My sister is dead!”
“I know!”
Jenna slammed the brakes at a red light.
Her eyes filled.
“You think I haven't replayed that promise a thousand times?”
The anger left me immediately.
Jenna had loved Claire too.
Maybe differently.
But deeply.
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
We reached Claire's apartment.
The front door was ajar.
Jenna stopped walking.
“I locked that.”
We entered cautiously.
The living room had been torn apart.
Drawers emptied.
Cushions thrown.
Books scattered.
Someone had searched everything.
I ran to the sofa.
The lining underneath had been sliced open.
The secret phone was gone.
“No.”
Jenna hurried toward me.
“The SIM card.”
I pulled it from my purse.
Still there.
“Will that help?”
“Maybe.”
Claire had purchased a cheap prepaid device, but Jenna knew a technician named Malik who operated a phone-repair shop.
Twenty minutes later, Malik inserted the SIM card into an older Android device.
“No cloud backup on the SIM itself,” he explained.
My stomach sank.
“Then we've lost everything.”
“Not necessarily.”
He checked the card.
“There are contacts and a few SMS messages stored locally.”
“Can you retrieve them?”
Malik looked at Jenna.
“Depends how much trouble I'm stepping into.”
“Potential murder trouble,” she said.
He stared at us.
Then locked the front door of his shop.
“Okay.”
There were seven saved numbers.
No names.
Three appeared repeatedly in short texts.
The messages were cryptic.
Warehouse cleared.
M transfer delayed until marriage.
C knows too much.
“C,” I whispered.
Claire.
One final message had been received the morning of the wedding.
If C goes public today, handle it before reception.
I felt physically sick.
Malik printed everything.
“Take these to police.”
“We don't know who sent them,” Jenna said.
“Then let police figure it out.”
He was right.
But Claire had chosen secrecy for a reason.
Someone involved might have influence.
Ryan's company provided private security and consulting for corporations, wealthy families, even local government contracts.
We decided to listen to Claire's remaining recordings first.
Except the phone was gone.
Then Jenna remembered something.
“Claire backed up everything.”
“How?”
“She kept an external drive at my office. She told me it was photography.”
We drove straight there.
Jenna worked as an architect in a converted brick building downtown. Claire had used a spare desk when she needed somewhere quiet.
Inside the locked drawer sat a red portable drive.
The password hint appeared on Jenna's laptop.
Where we hid from Dad.
I knew immediately.
When Claire and I were children, we had once broken our father's antique lamp.
We hid inside our mother's greenhouse for three hours.
“Greenhouse,” I typed.
Wrong.
Then I remembered what Claire called it.
“Glasshouse.”
The drive unlocked.
Twenty-three audio files appeared.
The same twenty-three recordings I had seen on the phone.
Recording one was dated six weeks before the wedding.
Claire sounded calm.
“I started looking into Ryan because his employment history doesn't make sense.”
She explained that Ryan claimed to have spent seven years working for Halcyon Risk International.
Claire contacted Halcyon.
There was no record of him.
Recording four revealed something worse.
“Ryan Mercer isn't his original name.”
I stopped the recording.
Jenna stared at me.
I pressed play.
“His birth name appears to have been Ryan Cole. He changed it twelve years ago after a fraud investigation in Nevada. Charges were never filed.”
Recording seven.
“He's connected to Daniel Vale, former private investigator, current security contractor.”
Recording nine.
“Vale investigated Dad's company before the sale.”
I felt the air leave my lungs.
Our father.
This had begun before Ryan met me.
Recording twelve included photographs and scanned financial records.
Ryan had purchased information on my family.
My assets.
Claire's assets.
Our mother's life-insurance policy.
Even my medical history.
Recording fourteen changed everything.
Claire said:
“I think Ryan married Alice to access the Monroe Trust, but marriage alone isn't enough. Alice controls one share. I control another. If I die without children, my controlling interest transfers to Alice.”
Jenna whispered, “Oh God.”
That meant Claire's death increased my control.
And because Ryan was my spouse, certain provisions could potentially give him indirect access if I died or became incapacitated.
Recording seventeen was made three days before the wedding.
Claire sounded exhausted.
“I met Daniel Vale tonight. He doesn't know who I am. I pretended to be looking for surveillance work. He said something disturbing.”
A muffled second voice played.
Male.
“I've cleaned up worse situations than two sisters.”
Claire's voice returned.
“I believe they're planning something after the trust consolidates.”
Recording nineteen.
“I can't prove Ryan intends to hurt Alice.”
Recording twenty-one.
“I have enough to stop the wedding, but if I show Alice now, Ryan may run. I want him prosecuted.”
I closed my eyes.
Claire had not refused to tell me because she enjoyed being mysterious.
She had been building a case.
Then came recording twenty-two.
Made ninety minutes before the ceremony.
Claire whispered:
“Someone broke into my apartment last night. Nothing obvious was stolen. I'm taking the backup to Jenna's office. After the ceremony, I'm going directly to Detective Marcus Reed.”
“Detective?” Jenna said.
We searched the drive.
There was a folder marked REED.
Inside was an email draft addressed to Detective Marcus Reed of the Connecticut State Police Financial Crimes Unit.
Claire had never sent it.
Attached were dozens of documents.
We had our next person.
But recording twenty-three remained.
The one from the car.
This version continued thirty-six seconds longer than the recording I'd heard before.
Claire's breathing was ragged.
A vehicle horn sounded.
Then she said:
“Ryan's SUV is behind me.”
Tires squealed.
“I'm calling Reed.”
More tires.
A crash of metal.
Claire screamed.
Then a second impact.
Jenna began crying.
The recording went quiet.
But it wasn't over.
Twenty seconds later, footsteps approached.
A door opened.
A man's voice said:
“She's still breathing.”
Another voice answered.
“Then finish it.”
Jenna grabbed my arm.
The first voice was unfamiliar.
The second wasn't.
It was Ryan.
Then Claire whispered so softly I almost missed it.
“One witness.”
The recording ended.
“One witness?” Jenna asked.
I stared at the screen.
Claire had seen someone.
May you like
Someone who had witnessed what happened.
And if we found that person before Ryan did, my sister might finally be able to tell us exactly who killed her.
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