Chapter 11: The Detective's Secret
I found Detective Harris outside the courthouse.
He was standing beside his patrol car, talking to another officer.
“Detective.””
He turned.
“Emma.””
“Who paid you to reopen my mother's case?””
His expression changed immediately.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
The other officer looked uncomfortable.
Harris motioned toward the courthouse steps.
“Walk with me.””
“No.””
He stopped.
“I want an answer.””
He studied me for several seconds.
“Your father didn't pay me.””
“Then who did?””
Harris lowered his voice.
“Your mother's insurance company.””
I frowned.
“Why would an insurance company reopen a seventeen-year-old accident?””
“Because someone filed a claim against a policy last month.””
“Who?””
“Claire Morgan.””
My stomach dropped.
“She's alive.””
Harris nodded.
“And she claims your mother owed her money.””
“That doesn't make sense.””
“It doesn't have to.””
“What does she want?””
“Two hundred thousand dollars.””
I laughed in disbelief.
“She can't just claim my mother's money.””
“She can make a claim.””
“Can she win?””
“Not if we prove the documents are forged.””
I looked at him.
“You already know they're forged.””
“We suspect.””
I pulled out my phone.
“Then explain this.””
I showed him the original fingerprint card.
His face changed.
“Where did you get that?””
“County archives.””
He stared at it.
“That's not supposed to exist.””
“Why?””
“Because the original evidence was destroyed.””
“When?””
“Seventeen years ago.””
“Then how did I just find it?””
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“You reopened the case because Richard asked you to.””
“No.””
“Because Claire filed a claim.””
“No.””
“Then why?””
Harris looked around.
The courthouse steps were crowded.
He finally said, “Because I received a package.””
“What was in it?””
“A recording.””
“Of what?””
“Your mother.””
My heart stopped.
“My mother?””
He nodded.
“She was alive when it was recorded.””
“Recorded when?””
“The night she died.””
I couldn't breathe.
“Play it.””
“I can't.””
“Why?””
“Because it was submitted as evidence.””
“Then I have a right to hear it.””
“Not yet.””
I grabbed his sleeve.
“My mother died seventeen years ago.””
“I know.””
“You have a recording of her from that night.””
“Yes.””
“And you're telling me I can't hear it?””
Harris's expression softened.
“I want you to hear it.””
He reached into his car and pulled out a small evidence envelope.
“But not here.””
We drove to a private interview room.
Harris placed a digital recorder on the table.
He pressed play.
Static.
Then my mother's voice.
“Daniel, if you're hearing this, something happened.””
I covered my mouth.
Her voice sounded exactly as I remembered.
Warm.
Tired.
Afraid.
“I don't know if I'll make it out tonight.””
Daniel's name again.
“Please don't come after Richard.””
A pause.
“He isn't the one I'm afraid of.””
I looked at Harris.
He said nothing.
The recording continued.
“He thinks I'm going to tell Emma about the money.””
I leaned forward.
“What money?””
My mother's breathing became shaky.
“The money Richard stole isn't the real problem.””
There was a loud noise in the background.
A car door.
Then my mother's voice dropped to a whisper.
“Someone else has been moving money through the trust.””
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Someone inside the family.””
Static.
Then a man's voice.
Not Richard.
Not Daniel.
A voice I'd never heard before.
“You shouldn't have called him.””
My mother gasped.
The recording ended.
I stared at the recorder.
“Who was that?””
Harris shook his head.
“We don't know.””
“But you said the recording came in a package.””
“Yes.””
“Who sent it?””
“That's the problem.””
He slid the evidence envelope toward me.
“There's no return address.””
I looked at the envelope.
My name was written across it.
Not the police department's.
Mine.
In handwriting I recognized instantly.
My mother's.
I looked up.
“That handwriting was authenticated?””
“Yes.””
“Then my mother wrote my name after the recording was made.””
Harris nodded.
“That is what we believe.””
My phone buzzed.
A text appeared.
*You heard her voice. Now hear mine.*
Then a video call began.
The caller ID displayed:
*Claire Morgan.*
I answered.
A woman's face appeared.
Older.
Pale.
But unmistakably the woman from my mother's photographs.
Claire looked directly into the camera.
“Emma,” she whispered.
I couldn't speak.
She continued.
“I'm sorry it took me this long.””
“Where are you?””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Somewhere Richard can't find me.””
“Why did you disappear?””
Claire looked behind her.
Then she whispered four words.
“Because your mother saved me.””
A loud knock sounded behind Claire.
She flinched.
“Emma, listen to me. Richard isn't trying to steal your money.””
I leaned toward the screen.
“Then what does he want?””
Claire's face went white.
May you like
“He wants the person who has it.””
The call suddenly cut off.
