Chương 12
Keene said quietly, “Fay.”
“I know.”
I opened it anyway.
The first page was a spreadsheet of payments from Gerald Mercer to Raymond Voss.
The second page contained prescription records.
The third was a copy of a medical invoice.
My name appeared at the top.
I stared at it.
“I never had this appointment.”
Keene moved closer.
“What date?”
I told her.
James looked over my shoulder.
“That was six years ago.”
The year of my wedding.
The year of my panic attack.
The year my mother had just cited as evidence that I had a psychiatric history.
I turned the page.
Another appointment.
Another.
Six in total.
All billed under my name.
All describing evaluations I had never attended.
My skin prickled.
“Why would Voss create fake medical records about me six years ago?”
No one answered.
I reached the final page.
It was not medical.
It was a letter from Nathan to Detective Keene.
I recognized his signature at the bottom.
Mara, if anything happens before I can verify this, start with Voss, not Cole.
Keene went still.
James looked at her.
“You’ve never seen that?”
“No.”
I turned the paper over.
There was handwriting on the back.
Three words.
Check Fay’s mother.
I looked up.
Keene’s face had changed.
“What?”
She reached into her coat.
Not for a weapon.
For her phone.
“I need to make a call.”
“To whom?”
She was already dialing.
“The officer watching your parents’ house.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why is someone watching their house?”
Keene looked at me as the call connected.
“Because Gerald Mercer called me yesterday morning and said he thought Patricia was going to destroy Nathan’s evidence.”
I stared at her phone.
“Yesterday?”
Keene held up one finger as someone answered on the other end.
“Dawson, status on Mercer.”
She listened.
Her face tightened.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Both of them?”
James stepped closer.
Keene turned away from us, but the room was too small for privacy.
“No, do not enter unless you have probable cause or an immediate safety issue.”
She listened again.
“Keep eyes on the house and call me if either vehicle moves.”
She ended the call.
My mouth had gone dry.
“What happened?”
“Your parents are home.”
“That isn’t what your face said.”
She hesitated.
“Your mother took two banker boxes into the garage about twenty minutes ago.”
I looked at the open locker.
“What kind of boxes?”
“Standard cardboard document boxes.”
“Did the officer see what was inside?”
“No.”
“Then maybe they’re Christmas decorations.”
Keene nodded.
“Maybe.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“I don’t believe anything yet.”
James touched the edge of the table.
“Why did Gerald call you yesterday?”
Keene looked at me.
“He said Patricia had started asking where Nathan kept copies of the church records.”
“She asked him?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After Nathan died.”
The words struck with a delayed force.
My mother had not merely been planning around my inheritance.
She had been searching for evidence.
“What exactly did Dad tell you?”
“That Patricia had panicked after learning Nathan’s lawyer was handling the estate.”
James said, “She knew I had the files.”
“Gerald thought she suspected that.”
I looked at the letter again.
Check Fay’s mother.
Nathan had written it three weeks ago.
Three weeks before Patricia supposedly panicked.
“Why did Nathan tell you to start with Voss?”
Keene’s eyes moved toward the VOSS folder.
“That’s what we need to find out.”
“You were investigating with him.”
“I was investigating Cole.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
Her voice stayed steady.
“Nathan brought me information about your father, Cole, and several property transfers.”
“And Voss?”
“Not initially.”
“When did Voss enter it?”
“About five weeks ago.”
I did the math automatically.
Two weeks before Nathan changed the locker access.
“What happened?”
“Nathan contacted me after he discovered a payment from one of Cole’s shell companies to a medical consulting LLC.”
“Voss’s?”
“Registered to his wife.”
James muttered something under his breath.
I looked at Keene.
“How much?”
“Two hundred and forty thousand over eighteen months.”
“That’s separate from what my father paid him?”
“Yes.”
The room seemed to get colder.
“What was Voss consulting on?”
“We couldn’t establish that.”
“Did you question him?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because we were still building the financial side.”
“You let a doctor take two hundred and forty thousand dollars from a fraud suspect and didn’t ask him why?”
Keene’s jaw tightened.
“We had transactions.”
“You had a name.”
“We had a name attached to an entity.”
“That sounds like lawyer language.”
“It’s investigative language.”
I looked at James.
He stayed out of it.
Keene continued.
“If I knock on a door too early, people move money, delete records, call lawyers, warn one another, and disappear.”
“Cole disappeared anyway.”
“Yes.”
“And Nathan died.”
The sentence landed between us.
Keene did not defend herself.
That made it worse.
“I’m sorry.”
I laughed without humor.
“Everyone is sorry.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
“Your anger is fair.”
“I’m not asking permission for it.”
“No.”
She nodded once.
“You’re not.”
James reached into the locker and lifted the MERCER folder without opening it.
“Can we inventory everything first?”
Keene glanced at him.
“Yes.”
That tiny exchange told me they had worked together before.
No argument.
No ego.
Just an old rhythm.
I hated how much competence comforted me.
We removed the contents one item at a time.
Three folders.
A flash drive.
A small external hard drive.
Two sealed envelopes.
A spiral notebook.
A prepaid cellphone still wrapped in plastic.
And beneath all of it, a black leather case no bigger than a paperback.
James frowned.
“What is that?”
I opened it.
Inside was a portable audio recorder.
My stomach tightened.
Keene did not touch it.
“Do you recognize it?”
“No.”
James looked at me.
“Nathan used one?”
“Never.”
At least, I had never seen him use one.
That distinction had become important.
May you like
There was a memory card inserted.
Keene photographed the recorder where it lay before moving anything.
