Chương 8
Daniel called that evening.
Claire told him about the photograph.
He was silent.
Then said, “Eight forty-one.”
“Yes.”
“Natalie was already dead.”
“According to the medical estimate.”
“She died before nine.”
“Yes.”
“So Ethan met someone pretending to be her.”
“Maybe.”
“Then how did he see Natalie at ten?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel exhaled.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“There’s something I didn’t tell police.”
She shut her eyes.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“I told them today.”
“What?”
“Natalie had a sister.”
Claire opened her eyes.
“I know. Rachel.”
“No. Another sister.”
Claire sat down.
“What?”
“Half sister. Older.”
“Name?”
“Rebecca Sloan.”
“Why have I never heard of her?”
“Because Natalie hadn’t spoken to her in years.”
“Why?”
“Money. Their mother’s estate. A lot of ugly family stuff.”
“Does Rebecca look like Natalie?”
Daniel did not answer.
Claire stood.
“Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
Claire went cold.
“Dark hair?”
“Yes.”
“Glasses?”
“She wore them.”
“Thin?”
“Yes.”
“And around fifty?”
“Forty-eight.”
Claire pressed her fingers to her forehead.
“Why did you never mention her during the search?”
“I did. Police interviewed her.”
“Did she have an alibi?”
“I don’t know.”
“What does this have to do with the woman who picked up the money?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have a picture?”
Daniel sent one.
Claire opened it.
Rebecca Sloan and Natalie Reed stood beside each other at what appeared to be a wedding nearly fifteen years earlier.
The resemblance was not exact.
But in poor garage lighting, from a few feet away, wearing similar hair—
Claire understood how a man who expected Natalie might see Natalie.
Especially if he wanted to.
The next morning, police arrested Rebecca Sloan.
Not for murder.
For fraud.
Traffic cameras had captured enough of the silver SUV’s route to trace it to a parking lot where Rebecca’s own vehicle had been left.
Her fingerprints were found inside the stolen SUV.
She refused to discuss Natalie.
But police found something in her home.
A photocopy of Reed Property Management vendor credentials.
Several old company checks.
And a photograph of Natalie’s wedding ring.
Claire learned these details gradually through Daniel, then through public court filings.
The story that first seemed to appear was almost simple.
Rebecca and Paul Hensley had siphoned money from the company.
Natalie discovered it.
Rebecca lured or confronted her.
Natalie died.
Rebecca used Ethan to move money and create confusion.
But simple stories rarely survived contact with documents.
Paul Hensley had not received the stolen funds.
At least not directly.
And Rebecca’s finances did not show three hundred thousand dollars.
Most of the money had gone somewhere else.
Four days after Rebecca’s arrest, Ethan was charged with evidence tampering and obstruction.
Claire learned from a news alert while standing in line for coffee.
She read the headline twice.
Then placed her phone face down on the counter.
The barista said, “Oat milk latte?”
Claire looked up.
She had no idea what the woman was talking about.
“You ordered an oat milk latte.”
“Oh. Right.”
She paid.
Outside, she sat in her car and called Miriam.
“What does this mean?”
“It means prosecutors believe they can prove he deliberately concealed or destroyed evidence.”
“Does that mean they think he killed Natalie?”
“Not necessarily.”
Claire gripped the coffee cup.
“Can I talk to him?”
“You can.”
“Should I?”
Miriam paused.
“No.”
Claire appreciated the pause.
It meant the answer had survived thought.
That night Ethan called anyway.
Claire let it ring.
Then again.
She answered the third time.
“Hi.”
His voice sounded exhausted.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“I need you to hear me.”
“I’ve been hearing you for years. Apparently I was missing parts.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“Then stop telling me only the things that make you look slightly less guilty.”
Silence.
“I saw Rebecca first,” he said.
Claire sat straighter.
“At eight forty-one?”
“Yes.”
“So you knew.”
“I knew I met Rebecca.”
“Then why tell us Natalie gave you the note?”
“I panicked.”
“You lied.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Rebecca gave me the note and told me Natalie would meet me later.”
“And she did?”
“I thought she did.”
“Rebecca came back pretending to be Natalie?”
“I don’t know.”
“How do you not know?”
“It was dark. She kept her hood up. She wouldn’t come close.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“You said Natalie gave you the ring.”
“The woman I believed was Natalie did.”
“Did she speak?”
“Very little.”
“Did you hear her voice?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It sounded wrong.”
Claire felt anger rise.
“You left that part out.”
“I convinced myself she was sick.”
“Of course you did.”
“I know how stupid that sounds.”
“No. Stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Stop saying you know how things sound as if recognizing stupidity after the fact is a substitute for not doing stupid things.”
He went quiet.
Claire stood and walked to the hotel window.
“Why would Rebecca give you Natalie’s ring?”
“I don’t know.”
“To make you believe Natalie was alive.”
“Probably.”
“Which means Natalie was already dead.”
Ethan said nothing.
“And Rebecca had access to her body.”
“Yes.”
Claire pressed her forehead to the glass.
“Did you tell police all of this?”
“Yes.”
“Before or after they showed you evidence?”
A pause.
“After.”
She laughed softly.
“You really are committed to learning every lesson at maximum cost.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
“I need you to know one thing.”
“No, you need me to know a hundred things you should have told me eleven months ago.”
“I never slept with Natalie.”
Claire shut her eyes.
“Do you understand how small that is now?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“I loved you.”
Past tense.
Maybe accidental.
Maybe honest.
Claire noticed it anyway.
“Good night, Ethan.”
“Claire—”
She ended the call.
Two weeks later, Paul Hensley disappeared.
His car was found at the airport.
No record showed him boarding a flight.
His passport had not been scanned.
Police searched his home.
He had shredded files.
Deleted accounts.
Moved money.
May you like
That changed the public story again.
News vans returned to Daniel’s street.
