Chapter 7
Raymond Cole was not what I expected.
No dramatic scar.
No gold rings.
No threatening smile.
He looked like somebody’s tired grandfather.
Gray hair.
Reading glasses.
Brown sweater.
If I had passed him in a grocery store, I would never have looked twice.
That made him worse.
We sat across from each other through thick interview-room glass.
A detective was beside me.
Dad waited outside.
Raymond smiled faintly.
“You look like your mother.”
I felt anger rise immediately.
“Don’t talk about her like you knew her.”
“I did know her.”
“You helped kill her.”
His smile disappeared.
“Is that what Michael told you?”
“He told me he suspected you.”
“Michael suspected everyone.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
“Why should I believe you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
At least he was honest about that.
“I asked to speak to you because Diane is dangerous.”
“You worked with her.”
“For years.”
“Then you’re responsible too.”
“Yes.”
That answer surprised me.
He leaned back.
“Diane began helping me when she was twenty-eight. Information. Names. Schedules.”
“My mother’s schedule?”
His eyes changed.
“I never asked for your mother’s route.”
“Did Diane give it to you?”
“Yes.”
My hands went cold.
“Why?”
“She told me Michael’s wife wanted to meet secretly.”
Dad had been wrong.
Mom had been right.
“What happened?”
“I sent two men.”
“For what?”
“To talk.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No. But it’s true.”
“Then how did she die?”
Raymond looked at the table.
“My men never reached her.”
“Convenient.”
“They were six miles away when her car went off the road.”
“Did Diane sabotage it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why are you telling me this?”
“Because two days later, Diane came to me crying.”
“What did she say?”
“That your mother had discovered her relationship with me.”
I felt sick.
“What relationship?”
“Personal.”
I stared at him.
Raymond sighed.
“We were having an affair.”
“Diane was married.”
“So was I.”
“And she was my mother’s friend?”
“Yes.”
“Why did she hate my mother?”
“Jealousy.”
“Over you?”
He laughed once.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Over Michael.”
I went still.
Raymond watched my face.
“Your mother wasn’t Diane’s real obsession.”
“My father was.”
I stood.
The detective touched my arm.
“Emily.”
I sat again.
“What are you talking about?”
“Diane met Michael before he met your mother.”
I stared through the glass.
“She was in love with him?”
“She thought she was.”
“Did he know?”
“Probably not.”
That sounded almost impossible.
My father noticed everything.
But maybe not a young woman in a world full of men demanding his attention.
Raymond continued.
“When Michael chose your mother, Diane never forgave either of them.”
“So she helped you because she hated him.”
“At first.”
“And later?”
“Later she liked power.”
“What happened to her brother Stephen?”
Raymond’s expression tightened.
“That is why I wanted to talk to you.”
“Did my father kill him?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Raymond looked at the detective.
Then at me.
“Diane.”
I felt my stomach turn.
“Her own brother?”
“He discovered she was feeding information to me.”
“Why would she kill him?”
“He threatened to tell Michael.”
I stared at him.
All these years Diane had told Jason my father destroyed their family.
But if Raymond was telling the truth, she had destroyed it herself.
“How?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I helped hide the aftermath. I did not witness his death.”
“Why help her?”
“Because I was stupid.”
“That’s your defense?”
“No.”
His eyes hardened.
“It is my explanation.”
I leaned closer.
“Where is Diane?”
Raymond looked at me for a long time.
“She took something from me.”
“What?”
“Files.”
“What files?”
“Records from the old days.”
Dad had warned me about people who treated secrets like currency.
Diane apparently had enough currency to buy a war.
“What is in them?”
“Payments. Names. Officials. Businesses. Things men with respectable lives would prefer buried.”
“And?”
“Information about your mother.”
My heart pounded.
“What information?”
“A photograph.”
“Of what?”
“Her car.”
“Before the crash?”
“Yes.”
“Who took it?”
Raymond paused.
“Diane.”
I felt the room tilt.
“Where is she?”
“She told me she was going to finish what she started.”
The detective leaned forward.
“What does that mean?”
Raymond ignored him.
He looked at me.
“She blames you now.”
“For what?”
“For Jason.”
“He assaulted me.”
“She doesn’t care.”
“Where would she go?”
Raymond hesitated.
Then said, “Your mother’s grave.”
Dad was standing when I came out.
“What did he say?”
I told him.
He immediately called Thomas.
I grabbed his arm.
“No men with guns.”
“Emily.”
“Police first.”
“Diane has spent twenty-four years—”
“I know.”
“She could be armed.”
“So could you.”
He stared at me.
I lowered my voice.
“I already almost lost one parent because people solved problems with violence.”
That hit him hard.
He put his phone away.
We went with detectives.
My mother was buried in a quiet cemetery outside Chicago.
By the time we arrived, police had already surrounded it.
No Diane.
But flowers were scattered across Mom’s grave.
Red roses.
Beside them sat a white envelope with my name.
The bomb squad checked it first.
Nothing dangerous.
Inside was a letter.
Emily,
Your mother ruined my life, and your father made sure I had nothing left.
Now you have ruined my son.
You think you are innocent because men have protected you since birth.
You are not innocent.
Ask your father what happened on October 14, 2002.
Ask him why he came home covered in blood.
Then decide which one of us is the monster.
D.
I read it twice.
October 14, 2002.
The date meant nothing to me.
Dad saw it.
His face changed.
“What happened that day?”
He said nothing.
“Dad.”
The detectives watched us.
“What happened?”
He closed his eyes.
“That was the day Stephen Mercer disappeared.”
I stepped away from him.
“You said you didn’t kill him.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why were you covered in blood?”
“Because someone else was.”
“Who?”
He looked around the cemetery.
Then quietly said, “Diane.”
I stared at him.
He continued.
“She came to me that night.”
“Why?”
“Her hands were bleeding. Her dress was covered in blood. She said Stephen attacked her.”
“And you helped her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I believed her.”
“What did you do?”
“I called a doctor I trusted.”
“That’s all?”
“No.”
“What else?”
He looked ashamed.
“I helped clean the place where she said the attack happened.”
My stomach dropped.
“You destroyed evidence.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She told me Stephen ran after hurting her.”
“And you believed that?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know he was already dead?”
“No.”
“When did you find out?”
“Years later.”
“How?”
“Raymond told me.”
“And you never went to police?”
Dad’s face hardened.
“In that world, police weren’t part of the rules.”
I laughed bitterly.
“And look what those rules gave us.”
He took the insult without defending himself.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
The detective signaled for me to answer on speaker.
“Hello?”
Diane’s voice filled the air.
“Did you get my letter?”
Every officer around us became alert.
I stared at my mother’s grave.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Where are you?”
She laughed.
“Still giving orders. Just like your father.”
“What do you want?”
“The same thing I wanted from the beginning.”
“Money?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Then what?”
“I want Michael Bennett to lose the one thing he loves more than power.”
My father’s face changed.
I knew the answer before she said it.
“You.”
I forced myself to breathe.
“You already failed.”
“Did I?”
A message arrived during the call.
A photograph.
Rosa.
My father’s housekeeper.
The woman who had held me while I cried.
She was sitting in a chair.
Her hands bound.
A bruise on her cheek.
Dad saw the image.
Something terrifying entered his eyes.
Diane whispered into my ear.
“Come alone, Emily.”
“Where?”
“I’ll send the address.”
“If you hurt her—”
“You have one hour.”
The call ended.
Dad immediately said, “Absolutely not.”
I looked at Rosa’s picture.
Then at him.
“I’m going.”
“No.”
“I said I’m going.”
“And I said no.”
For the first time, I didn’t argue.
I simply looked at the detective.
“Can you track the call?”
“We’re trying.”
“Can you follow me without being seen?”
Dad stared at me.
The detective understood immediately.
“Yes.”
My father stepped between us.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Power isn’t protecting me anymore.”
“Emily.”
“It’s my turn to decide.”
He looked like he wanted to lock me inside the safe room forever.
But he didn’t.
Maybe he finally understood.
Twenty minutes later Diane sent the address.
An abandoned event hall.
The same place where my parents had held their wedding reception thirty-two years earlier.
Dad read the message.
Then whispered, “She planned all of this.”
I put on the hidden microphone police gave me.
“Yes.”
May you like
I looked at the photograph of Rosa one last time.
“And now we’re going to let her talk.”
