Chapter 6 - Rachel called me from a pay phone.“I didn't do it.”
Her voice was shaking.
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Rachel, someone broke into your apartment.”
“I know.”
“Who is ‘him’?”
She said nothing.
“You need to tell me.”
“I borrowed the money from the wrong person.”
“Who?”
“Malcolm.”
I closed my eyes.
“How much?”
“Three hundred thousand.”
The same amount missing from our savings.
I felt sick.
“Wait. You took our money?”
“No.”
“Then where did it go?”
“Mark.”
“Why would Mark send three hundred thousand dollars to you?”
“He didn't.”
“Then who?”
Rachel swallowed.
“Your husband borrowed it from me first.”
I couldn't understand.
“You said you gave Mark two hundred and eighty thousand.”
“I lied.”
“How much did you actually give him?”
“One hundred thousand.”
“Then where did the rest go?”
“The rest was never mine.”
“What?”
“I was holding it.”
“For Malcolm?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To pay a debt.”
I sat in my car.
The city lights blurred beyond the windshield.
“Rachel, what happened before Emma's birthday?”
She whispered.
“Mark asked me to help him disappear.”
My blood went cold.
“Disappear?”
“He knew Malcolm was coming.”
“Why?”
“Because Malcolm had discovered what Mark was selling.”
“The sedatives.”
“Yes.”
“Then why frame him?”
“Because Mark was going to testify.”
Against Malcolm?
Rachel hesitated.
“No.”
“Then against who?”
She whispered the answer.
“Someone inside the hospital.”
I remembered Mark's warning.
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“I never met him.”
“Rachel.”
“I swear.”
Then I heard something in the background.
A door opening.
Rachel gasped.
“They found me.”
The line went dead.
I called Detective Hayes.
We traced the call.
An abandoned parking structure.
I drove there with two patrol officers.
Rachel was nowhere.
But beneath a stairwell, we found her purse.
Inside was a key.
Stamped with three numbers.
And a receipt from the Harbor Hotel.
Room 917.
Detective Hayes held it under the flashlight.
“Someone wanted you to find this.”
“What if it's a trap?”
“It probably is.”
“Then why go?”
“Because whatever is in that room may explain why your daughter was poisoned.”
We entered the hotel just after midnight.
The corridor was silent.
Room 917 stood at the far end.
The key worked.
The door opened.
Nobody inside.
A lamp glowed beside the bed.
There were two glasses on the table.
One still wet.
A laptop.
Several medical invoices.
A stack of photographs.
And a red folder.
Detective Hayes opened it.
Inside were transaction records.
Names.
Dates.
Medication quantities.
Mark's name appeared repeatedly.
But one other name appeared even more often.
I stared at it.
“Who is Eleanor Price?”
Detective Hayes looked at me.
She slowly closed the folder.
“That's Daniel Price's wife.”
“What does she have to do with my husband?”
The detective turned toward the laptop.
A video was playing automatically.
It showed the interior of my house.
Our kitchen.
The video had been recorded on the day of Emma's birthday.
I watched Rachel make lemonade.
I watched Mark enter.
I watched the two of them argue.
Then the camera angle changed.
A close-up.
Rachel handed Mark the unicorn cup.
Mark looked at it.
And whispered something.
Detective Hayes paused the video.
“What did he say?”
I leaned closer.
The audio was faint.
But clear enough.
Mark said:
“She knows.”
The detective looked at me.
“Who does?”
The video resumed.
Rachel looked toward the camera.
Not at Mark.
Not at Emma.
Directly at whoever had been recording.
May you like
And she mouthed four words.
“It's not her. It's me.”
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