Chapter 7 - The Price of Doubt
The blood in Richard’s Range Rover did not belong to Richard.
By midnight, police knew that much.
It belonged to Victor Dane’s widow.
Melissa Dane had vanished from her home three hours earlier.
The implication was immediate.
She knew something.
And Richard knew she knew it.
Police issued a statewide alert.
Airports were contacted.
Train stations.
Border crossings.
Every property connected to Richard or his known associates was searched.
I could do nothing except wait.
I discovered that waiting while your enemy was free was its own kind of torture.
At 1:30 a.m., I found Annie sitting alone in the kitchen.
The boys had finally fallen asleep.
She held a mug she wasn’t drinking from.
I stopped in the doorway.
“I owe you an apology.”
She didn’t look up.
“Yes.”
No false politeness.
No attempt to rescue me from my guilt.
I respected her more for it.
“When I saw the bracelet…”
“You wondered.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t know me.”
“That isn’t an excuse.”
“No.”
I sat across from her.
“I spent twenty years knowing Richard and six days knowing you.”
“That’s exactly why it made sense.”
“But you were telling the truth.”
“So were your sons.”
I looked at her.
There it was.
The real accusation.
Not the bracelet.
Not her.
My children.
“You think I didn’t believe them.”
“I think you wanted another explanation.”
“That’s different.”
“To an adult, maybe.”
I said nothing.
She wrapped both hands around the mug.
“Do you know what Jordan asked me tonight?”
“What?”
“He asked whether people have to be grown up before somebody believes them.”
The sentence hurt more than I expected.
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
I rubbed my face.
“I thought I was protecting them from the accident.”
“Maybe you were.”
“No.”
I looked toward the dark hallway.
“I was protecting myself from hearing it.”
Annie didn’t disagree.
“My wife tried to warn me about Richard.”
“You didn’t know.”
“She expected me not to listen.”
“You can’t change that now.”
“I know.”
“But you can change what happens next.”
For a housekeeper with no prestigious credentials, Annie Reed had an irritating habit of saying the exact thing people with expensive credentials never managed.
My phone rang.
Walsh.
“Melissa Dane is alive.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“Roadside motel near Poughkeepsie. A clerk recognized her from the alert.”
“Was Richard with her?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“She says he abducted her and tried to force her to give him something.”
“What?”
“A letter her husband left.”
I glanced at Annie.
“What letter?”
“We’re bringing Melissa in.”
Two hours later, Walsh arranged for me to speak with Melissa at the county office.
I nearly didn’t recognize the woman sitting across the interview room.
Early forties.
Bruise along her jaw.
Hands shaking uncontrollably.
She stared at me.
“You’re her husband.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
The apology almost made me angry.
She wasn’t responsible.
Then I remembered her husband had driven the truck.
Maybe she was.
Maybe everyone was.
Walsh sat beside her.
“Tell Ethan what you told me.”
Melissa swallowed.
“Victor didn’t know your wife would be in the car.”
My jaw tightened.
“That changes very little.”
“I know.”
“He agreed to kill me.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Money.”
The simplicity of it disgusted me.
“How much?”
“Two hundred fifty thousand.”
I laughed once.
Twenty years building a life.
A wife.
Two children.
A company employing fourteen thousand people.
Someone had priced my death at a quarter million dollars.
Melissa continued.
“Victor was in debt. Gambling. Richard knew.”
“You knew what he planned?”
“Not before.”
“When did you find out?”
“After the crash.”
She looked down.
“Victor came home covered in blood.”
My stomach twisted.
“He told me he tried to stop when he saw the children.”
“What happened?”
“Richard called him.”
“After?”
“Yes.”
“What did Richard say?”
Melissa’s voice weakened.
“He told Victor to make sure Lauren couldn’t talk.”
The room went silent.
Walsh looked at me.
I couldn’t feel my hands.
“What does that mean?”
Melissa began crying.
“Victor said he wouldn’t.”
“Did Richard go to the wreck?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“The boys were right.”
“Yes.”
“What did Richard do?”
“Victor didn’t know. He drove away before emergency vehicles arrived.”
Coward.
He had left Lauren dying in wreckage he created.
Richard came afterward.
Took the notebook.
Maybe watched her die.
“What letter?”
Melissa opened her purse.
Walsh had already placed the letter in evidence, but she showed me a photograph.
Victor had written it before his own death.
He named Richard.
Described the payment.
Described the plan.
And stated that Richard had threatened him repeatedly after the crash.
If anything happens to me, Richard Caldwell did it.
Walsh said, “Victor’s vehicle accident is being reopened.”
“Richard killed him.”
“Likely.”
“Say it.”
“Likely.”
I almost smiled bitterly.
Detective Walsh would probably say likely while watching a murderer hold the weapon.
But I understood now.
Facts mattered.
Lauren had died because Richard believed he could erase facts.
We would bury him with them.
At dawn, I returned home.
Annie was asleep in a chair outside the twins’ room.
Again.
I stood looking at her.
One blanket over her legs.
Head tilted against the wall.
She’d been afraid to leave them.
I gently lifted the blanket higher.
Her eyes opened.
For one awkward moment, neither of us moved.
“You’re back.”
“I said I would be.”
She smiled faintly.
“How is Melissa?”
“Alive.”
“And Richard?”
“Still missing.”
She sat up.
“What happens now?”
“We protect the boys. Police find him.”
“And the company?”
“I don’t care.”
She studied me.
“That’s not true.”
“No.”
I sat beside her on the floor.
“But it isn’t first anymore.”
The bedroom door opened.
Jordan appeared, rubbing his eyes.
“Daddy?”
“I’m here.”
He crawled into my lap.
Five seconds later Justin appeared and wedged himself beside his brother.
I held them both.
Jordan touched my face.
“Did you find shiny man?”
“Not yet.”
“Will he come here?”
“No.”
I hoped that wasn’t a lie.
Justin looked at me.
“Are you mad at Mommy?”
My chest tightened.
“Why would I be mad at Mommy?”
“She didn’t tell you.”
I kissed his hair.
“No, buddy.”
“Are you mad at Uncle Richard?”
“Yes.”
That answer came easily.
Jordan whispered, “Are you mad at us?”
I stared at him.
“For what?”
“We didn’t tell.”
I felt something break open inside me.
I pulled them closer.
“No. Never.”
“We promised.”
“You were scared.”
“Mommy said tell Daddy.”
“You’re telling me now.”
Jordan started crying quietly.
“I forgot.”
“You were four years old.”
“I forgot Mommy’s voice.”
Annie turned away.
I pressed my cheek against his head.
“Then we’ll remember it together.”
That morning, I played Lauren’s recording.
Not the parts about fraud.
Just one older file on the recorder.
Lauren singing badly in the kitchen.
The twins laughed through tears.
At nine, they ate pancakes.
At ten, I canceled every company meeting.
At eleven, I sat on the floor building a wooden train track.
At 11:34, my phone rang.
It was the twins’ school.
The administrator sounded frantic.
“Mr. Morrison?”
“Yes?”
“We have a problem.”
My body went cold.
“What?”
“A man called claiming there was a family emergency.”
I stood.
“Where are my children?”
There was silence.
Then the administrator said the words no parent should ever hear.
“We thought you sent someone to pick them up.”
I looked toward the playroom.
Empty.
Because Marcus had taken the boys to school forty minutes earlier.
My voice disappeared.
“Who took my sons?”
The administrator started crying.
“Mr. Caldwell.”
The phone slipped from my hand.
Annie was already standing.
“What happened?”
May you like
I looked at her.
“Richard has the boys.”
