Chapter 6 - The Missing Twelve Hours
The autopsy was ordered before midnight.
My mother objected.
Caleb objected.
I signed the authorization as Emily’s legal spouse.
For once, their objections meant nothing.
Detective Reed began reconstructing Emily’s last day.
The official family story was simple.
Emily had gone into labor at 3:00 a.m.
A private midwife arrived.
No complications were noticed initially.
Noah was born shortly after nine.
Emily began bleeding.
Dr. Voss supposedly arrived too late.
Emily died at 10:42 a.m.
It sounded plausible.
Until Reed checked the phone records.
No call had been made to Dr. Voss until 4:16 that afternoon.
Seven hours after Noah was born.
My mother sat in the library when Reed confronted her.
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves Dr. Voss wasn’t here when you said he was.”
“He may have been contacted another way.”
“Then show me.”
She couldn’t.
Reed placed another sheet on the table.
“The midwife you named, Lisa Warren, hasn’t practiced in this state for six years.”
My mother stared at him.
“She came privately.”
“She lives in Arizona.”
Silence.
Reed leaned forward.
“Who delivered the baby?”
My mother’s eyes moved toward Caleb.
That movement was tiny.
But I saw it.
“So Caleb was there.”
I stepped closer.
My brother’s face tightened.
“I helped.”
“You delivered my son?”
“Someone had to.”
“Where was the hospital?”
“Emily refused.”
“You’re lying.”
“You weren’t here.”
That sentence came again.
Always the same weapon.
Always deployment.
Always absence.
“You don’t get to use my service to explain your lies.”
Caleb stood.
“You left her here.”
I moved toward him.
Elena stepped between us.
“Daniel.”
I stopped.
Barely.
Caleb smiled.
He had always known exactly how to push me.
Then Reed spoke.
“We have traffic camera footage.”
Caleb’s smile vanished.
“A vehicle registered to you left this property at 11:38 a.m.”
He placed a photograph on the table.
Caleb’s SUV.
“You returned at 2:03 p.m.”
Reed leaned back.
“Where did you go?”
Caleb stared at the photograph.
“Pharmacy.”
“For what?”
“Supplies.”
“Receipt?”
“No.”
“Which pharmacy?”
“I don’t remember.”
Reed slid another photo across the table.
This one showed Caleb’s SUV entering the parking lot of our company’s warehouse.
My mother closed her eyes.
I looked at Caleb.
“You went to the warehouse while Emily was supposedly dying.”
He said nothing.
Reed continued.
“You stayed there forty-one minutes.”
“What did you remove?”
“Nothing.”
The technician entered.
“Detective.”
Reed turned.
“We recovered deleted video from the warehouse security server.”
Caleb went completely still.
The footage was grainy.
But clear enough.
Emily entered the warehouse at 8:11 the night before Noah was born.
Pregnant.
Alone.
Caleb arrived eighteen minutes later.
They argued.
There was no sound.
At 8:42, my mother arrived.
At 9:07, Emily left.
Caleb followed.
My mother stayed behind.
Then the technician skipped forward.
At 12:14 the next afternoon, Caleb returned.
He carried two cardboard archive boxes inside.
Forty minutes later, he left without them.
Reed looked at him.
“What was in the boxes?”
Caleb said nothing.
Then the technician spoke again.
“There’s more.”
The video changed.
2:26 a.m.
Only hours before Emily gave birth.
A sedan entered my mother’s property.
The driver stepped out.
May you like
Dr. Stephen Voss.
He had been there all along.
