Chương 8
"Start talking," I said.
Ethan looked at Violet.
Then at me.
"My brother was nineteen when it happened."
"How do you know he was there?"
"Because he told me."
"When?"
"Two years ago."
The answer made no sense.
"Your brother waited four years to tell you?"
Ethan looked down.
"He didn't tell me because he wanted to."
"Then why?"
"Because he thought he was dying."
The room went quiet.
Not silent.
Hospitals are never silent.
Machines beep.
People walk.
Doors open and close.
But the kind of silence that matters is the one between people when something changes.
"What happened to your brother?"
Ethan rubbed his hand over his sleeve.
"Drug overdose."
The words came out quickly.
Like he hated saying them.
"Accidental?"
He looked at me.
"I don't know."
That answer mattered.
Because it sounded like someone who had spent years living beside uncertainty.
"Why didn't you go to the police?"
Ethan laughed once.
It was not humor.
It was frustration.
"Because nobody believed my brother about anything."
"Why?"
"Because he was an addict."
I said nothing.
Because I had seen that before.
People decided who someone was allowed to be after a mistake.
They turned complicated people into simple stories.
Ethan unfolded the paper.
"It was a note he left."
"From your brother?"
He nodded.
"After he died."
I reached for it.
Ethan hesitated.
Then handed it over.
The paper was old.
Folded many times.
The handwriting was uneven.
I read the first line.
I saw Sarah Harper's car.
My hands tightened.
The note continued.
I saw what happened.
I thought I could forget it.
I couldn't.
I looked up.
"Where is the rest?"
"There isn't any."
"That's not enough."
"I know."
"Then why bring it to me?"
"Because Violet found something."
"What?"
"An old photo."
My eyes narrowed.
"Where?"
"In my brother's things."
"What photo?"
Ethan looked toward the window.
"A picture of him standing near your wife's car that night."
My chest tightened.
"Why would you have that?"
"He kept everything."
"Everything?"
"Yeah."
Ethan looked embarrassed.
"My brother was the kind of person who saved things nobody else thought mattered."
I looked at the paper again.
A person who saved things.
A person who remembered.
A person who knew he had done something terrible.
"Where is the photo now?"
Ethan's face changed.
That was the first moment I saw real fear.
"Someone took it."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"When?"
"Yesterday."
The timeline hit me.
Yesterday.
The same day Violet was attacked.
"You were at my house."
Ethan flinched.
"No."
"Your jacket fibers were found on Violet."
His face went pale.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"No."
He stepped back.
"I wasn't there to hurt her."
"Then why were you there?"
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
That was an answer.
"You were at my house."
"I was."
"Why?"
Ethan looked at Violet.
"To warn her."
I stared at him.
"About what?"
"About my brother."
"That doesn't explain anything."
"I found out someone else knew she was looking."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"You're telling me someone attacked my daughter because of information you and she were chasing, but you don't know who?"
"I know how it sounds."
"Good."
"Because I know I look guilty."
He looked exhausted.
Not like someone caught.
Like someone who had been running from something for too long.
"I went there because Violet stopped answering."
"When?"
"Around two."
"Why would she stop answering you?"
"Because we argued."
"About what?"
Ethan looked at the floor.
"Your wife."
The anger returned.
"Explain."
"She wanted to tell you."
"About?"
"Everything."
I took one step closer.
"What did you tell her?"
"That you wouldn't believe us."
The words landed harder than I expected.
Not because they insulted me.
Because part of me wondered if it was true.
"Why would she think that?"
Ethan looked at Violet.
"Because she thought you would protect her by ignoring the truth."
The sentence hurt because it sounded like Violet.
Not Ethan.
My daughter.
I remembered all the times she asked about Sarah's death.
I remembered my answers.
Short.
Careful.
Final.
"Sometimes accidents happen."
"Sometimes people don't get answers."
"Your mother loved you."
All true.
And somehow not enough.
The door opened.
Mercer entered.
His eyes immediately went to Ethan.
Then to me.
"What is he doing here?"
Ethan stood straighter.
"I came to tell the truth."
Mercer looked at him.
"That's interesting timing."
"I know."
"Where were you yesterday at 2:47?"
Ethan looked down.
"At Harper's house."
I watched Mercer's reaction.
Not surprise.
Confirmation.
"Why didn't you tell us that?"
"Because I knew how it looked."
"It looks like you lied during a murder investigation."
"She isn't dead."
Mercer's face hardened.
"Don't say that like it changes what happened."
Ethan looked ashamed.
"It doesn't."
Mercer turned to me.
"You knew?"
"Just found out."
He nodded slowly.
The trust between us shifted.
Not broken.
But changed.
"Mr. Harper, I need you to understand something."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
His voice was quieter.
"Ethan was not the only person connected to your daughter."
He pulled out his phone.
"While you were here, we identified the receipt from your garage."
I looked at him.
"The coffee shop?"
He nodded.
"Camera footage shows two people."
"Who?"
He looked at Ethan.
Then at me.
"One was Ethan Cole."
Nobody spoke.
Ethan closed his eyes.
"And the other?"
Mercer looked at the screen.
"A woman."
My stomach dropped.
"Who?"
He hesitated.
Then he said the name.
"Mia Carter."
The girl Violet had tried to protect.
The girl who had been bullied.
The girl connected to everything.
I looked through the glass at my daughter.
The person who almost lost her life had been trying to save someone else.
And now the person she tried to save was standing at the center of the mystery.
"Where is Mia now?" I asked.
Mercer did not answer immediately.
That bothered me more than anything.
Finally, he said:
"We don't know."
I felt something cold move through me.
May you like
"Why not?"
"Because she disappeared this morning."
