Chapter 12 - THE ACCIDENT THAT WASN’T
For four years, I believed Rachel died because a drunk man lost control of his truck.
His name was Owen Pierce.
He pleaded guilty.
He went to prison.
Case closed.
Or so I thought.
Cole reopened the accident file.
Three hours later, he called me into another room.
“Sit down.”
“I’d rather stand.”
He placed photographs on the table.
Rachel’s car.
The intersection.
The truck.
“Pierce’s blood alcohol level was high.”
“I know.”
“But there was something else.”
“What?”
“The brake line on Rachel’s car showed damage.”
I stared at him.
“What kind of damage?”
“Originally listed as impact damage.”
“And now?”
“Our examiner thinks it may have been cut before the crash.”
My knees weakened.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
I paced away.
“No. That means someone killed her.”
“It means someone may have sabotaged the car.”
“Mercer.”
“We don’t know yet.”
I turned.
“You do know.”
“Suspecting isn’t proving.”
Emma was waiting outside.
I didn’t want to tell her.
She knew anyway.
Children know.
She saw my face and whispered, “Mom?”
I nodded.
Her whole body folded.
I caught her before she hit the floor.
For the next hour, she cried against my chest.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just broken.
“I thought she was alone.”
I kissed her hair.
“So did I.”
“What if she was scared?”
“I don’t know.”
“I hate them.”
“I know.”
“I hate Vanessa.”
“I know.”
“I want her to hurt.”
That one I understood too well.
I held her tighter.
“So do I.”
Emma looked up.
“Then why are you acting calm?”
“Because if we become like them, they take more from us.”
She wiped her face.
“I don’t care.”
“You will.”
That evening, Cole interrogated Jason Mercer.
Jason denied everything.
Until detectives showed him Rachel’s video.
Then he smiled.
Cole later told me that smile was the first real mistake Jason made.
Because innocent people react to murder accusations in lots of ways.
Confusion.
Fear.
Anger.
Jason looked relieved.
Then he asked one question.
“Did Victoria tell you where the second copy is?”
Cole didn’t know what he meant.
Neither did I.
But Emma did.
She looked at me later and said, “Mom always made backups.”
My heart jumped.
“Where?”
She ran upstairs to Rachel’s old jewelry cabinet.
Pulled out a false bottom.
Inside was a flash drive.
May you like
On it, written in Rachel’s handwriting, were three words.
FOR DANIEL. PROOF.
