Chương 7
His voice softened.
Almost gentle.
That was the dangerous version of Dominic.
Not the angry one.
The gentle one.
The one that made cruelty sound like concern.
"You think everyone is against you."
I stared at the phone.
"Did Chloe tell you what happened?"
The silence was immediate.
Small.
But real.
I had not expected an answer.
I wanted the reaction.
I got it.
"Who is Chloe?"
I almost laughed.
Not loudly.
Not happily.
Just a tired sound escaping before I could stop it.
"You're still doing it."
"Doing what?"
"Making me prove things you already know."
His voice changed.
Only slightly.
"You need help."
There it was.
The sentence he wanted other people to hear.
The sentence he wanted written down.
The sentence that would make me sound unstable if repeated without context.
I ended the call.
Not because I was done.
Because I had learned something important.
Dominic was not afraid.
Not yet.
A person who believes they are about to be exposed usually sounds different.
They rush.
They apologize.
They threaten.
They make mistakes.
Dominic sounded controlled.
That meant one of two things.
Either he truly believed he could escape this.
Or he had another move prepared.
I looked at the phone screen.
The call history showed one thing.
He had called me.
Not the sheriff.
Not my emergency contact.
Me.
That mattered.
I walked back toward the interview room.
Detective Cole was still inside reviewing paperwork.
She looked up when I entered.
"Something happened."
It was not a question.
I sat down.
"Dominic called me."
Her expression changed immediately.
"Did you record it?"
"No."
"Did he threaten you?"
"No."
"Did he say anything about what happened?"
I thought about the conversation.
The exact words.
The pauses.
The way he avoided certain questions.
"He said I needed help."
Marissa waited.
"He said I turn everything into a mission."
She wrote something down.
"Anything else?"
"He knew I was alive."
That made her stop.
"How?"
"I don't know."
"Did you tell him you were safe?"
"No."
"Did you contact anyone before he called?"
I shook my head.
"Not him."
Marissa leaned back.
"Interesting."
The word was careful.
"What does that mean?"
"It means he contacted you before you contacted him."
I nodded.
"Which means?"
"Which means he was looking for information."
I looked at her.
"Not checking if I was okay."
She did not answer.
She didn't need to.
The difference was obvious.
A few minutes later, Aaron entered carrying a folder.
His expression was different.
Not dramatic.
Just more focused.
"We spoke with your husband."
I felt my shoulders tense.
"And?"
"He came in voluntarily."
Of course he did.
Dominic liked controlling the environment.
He would not hide.
Not yet.
"What did he say?"
Aaron glanced at Marissa.
Then at me.
"He said the two of you had an argument."
I almost smiled.
Again.
The same story.
"He said you became upset and left."
"And the cabin?"
"He said he searched for you after the storm worsened."
My fingers pressed against the table.
"Did he mention Chloe?"
Aaron looked at the folder.
"No."
That answer bothered me.
Not because I expected him to confess.
Because Dominic had always been careful about what he left out.
"What about the insurance?"
Aaron hesitated.
That hesitation told me something.
"He admitted there was a policy."
I looked up.
"But?"
"He said it was a normal military benefit policy."
Of course.
A half-truth.
The most effective kind.
Because it contained enough truth to survive questions.
Marissa closed the folder.
"We searched the vehicle."
"And?"
"Your backpack was there."
My heart slowed.
"Where?"
"In the truck."
I looked at both of them.
"Did he explain why he had it?"
"He said he grabbed it because he was worried you had left without proper supplies."
I stared at the wall.
For a moment, I felt anger rise.
Then something else replaced it.
Recognition.
Dominic had not planned only the crime.
He had planned the explanation.
Every action had a story attached.
Every suspicious thing had a harmless version.
That was how people like him survived.
They did not erase evidence.
They buried it under alternative explanations.
"Can you get the backpack?" I asked.
"We have it."
"Don't give it back yet."
Marissa studied me.
"Why?"
"Because I want to know what is missing."
Aaron looked confused.
"What do you mean?"
I leaned forward.
"Dominic took specific things."
I counted them.
"My satellite phone."
"My winter gear."
"My emergency supplies."
I looked at the folder.
"But he left my wallet."
Marissa said nothing.
"That means he wasn't just taking valuable items."
The room became still.
"He was removing the things that increased my chance of surviving."
Nobody spoke.
Because that was the difference between a mistake and a pattern.
A mistake could be explained.
A pattern had to be investigated.
Marissa slowly closed her notebook.
"Claire."
I looked at her.
"Can you think of anything else he might have missed?"
I stared at the table.
The question was simple.
But the answer mattered.
Because somewhere between the cabin, the storm, and the story Dominic had built, there had to be something he did not control.
Something small.
Something human.
Something he overlooked.
And suddenly I knew exactly where to look.
The cabin.
I couldn't stop thinking about the blue mug.
It was such a small thing.
A useless thing.
Something most people would walk past without noticing.
But Dominic had always underestimated what I noticed.
That was part of what made our marriage work in the beginning.
He loved that I remembered details.
The coffee order he liked.
The dates he forgot.
The little things that made him feel known.
Later, those same details became something he hated.
Because knowing someone also meant noticing when they changed.
I looked at Marissa.
"The cabin."
She waited.
"There might be something there."
"What kind of something?"
I shook my head.
"I don't know yet."
Aaron crossed his arms.
"You want to go back?"
"Yes."
May you like
"No."
The answer came from both of them at the same time.
