Chapter 13 - The Woman Beside the Car
The photograph destroyed Margaret’s last defense.
She had always claimed she barely knew my father.
But there she was.
Standing beside his car.
Holding a flashlight.
Watching a man kneel near the rear wheel.
The man’s face was turned away.
Robert identified him.
Jason’s grandfather.
Margaret had been part of my father’s death.
Not a witness.
A participant.
Prosecutors added a homicide conspiracy charge.
Margaret finally asked to negotiate.
She offered Jason’s location in exchange for reduced charges.
The prosecutor refused to dismiss murder.
Margaret laughed.
“Then Emily will never see him again.”
Laura leaned across the table.
“You think your son is loyal to you?”
“He is alive because of me.”
“No.”
“He is hiding because you taught him to run.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed.
“He will come back for her.”
“For Emily?”
“He hates unfinished things.”
My skin prickled.
“Where is he?” Laura asked.
Margaret said nothing.
Then she looked at me through the glass.
“He knows where she feels safest.”
I thought of my apartment.
My childhood home.
My father’s grave.
The hospital.
Then I understood.
“The house.”
Laura turned to me.
“What house?”
“My house.”
The crime scene had been released that morning.
Police assumed Jason would never return.
He knew the cameras had been removed.
He knew the evidence teams were gone.
He knew I would eventually have to collect my belongings.
Laura sent officers immediately.
The front door was closed.
No vehicle outside.
No lights.
Officers entered through the back.
The living room was empty.
The kitchen was clean.
The bedroom door stood open.
On my pillow sat a porcelain cup.
Steam rose from the tea.
Jason had been there minutes earlier.
A message was written on the mirror.
Come home, Emily.
Police searched every room.
In the basement, they found a hidden panel behind the furnace.
Inside was a narrow room.
A chair.
Plastic restraints.
A camera.
Medical supplies.
A suitcase containing women’s clothing in my size.
Jason had planned to hold me there.
Maybe before the trip.
Maybe after.
Maybe he had never intended my death to happen quickly.
Laura found another notebook.
Jason’s handwriting filled every page.
He had documented my routine.
When I slept.
When I bathed.
When neighbors left for work.
Which windows were visible from the street.
One entry was dated six months earlier.
Tested basement soundproofing.
No sound outside.
Another read:
If emergency phone still exists, remove it.
He had forgotten.
The one mistake that saved me.
At the bottom of the notebook, he listed possible places to take me.
Lake house.
Storage unit.
Old clinic.
The old clinic belonged to Carter Medical Holdings.
It had been closed for nine years.
Police surrounded it before dawn.
Inside, they found food.
Clothing.
Weapons.
Fake identification.
A map of the city.
My safe house had been circled.
Jason had known where I was.
Then an officer found fresh tire tracks leading away from the rear entrance.
A security camera from a gas station captured Jason’s car.
He was driving east.
In the passenger seat sat a woman.
May you like
Sophie.
She had disappeared from police protection thirty minutes earlier.
