Chapter 3 - FORTY-SEVEN MINUTES AFTER MIDNIGHT
“THAT DATE HAS TO BE WRONG!”
Adrian slammed the photograph onto his desk.
I understood his reaction.
For five years, he had visited his wife's grave believing he knew where and when she died.
Now a photograph suggested Mara had been alive nearly an hour after the official accident time.
Samuel Price placed another document beside it.
“The back says September seventeenth, 12:34 a.m.”
Adrian looked up sharply.
“The accident was reported at 11:47 p.m.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who wrote the date?”
“We don't know yet.”
Adrian turned the photograph beneath his desk lamp.
The handwriting was small.
Blue ink.
And beside the date was a number.
BAY 14.
I leaned closer.
“Those aren't ordinary parking spaces, are they?”
Samuel shook his head.
“Loading bays. Prescott Freight operated fourteen of them at the old Nashville yard.”
Adrian looked at me.
“How do you know to ask that?”
“My father drove delivery trucks for twenty-six years. He taught me how warehouses worked.”
It was the first time anyone in that mansion had seemed interested in something I knew.
Adrian examined the picture again.
Mara stood between Owen and Delilah.
Her hair was damp.
Her right sleeve was torn.
And her left hand rested against the warehouse wall.
She didn't look like a woman celebrating anything.
She looked exhausted.
Frightened.
I pointed toward her wrist.
“Where's her watch?”
Adrian frowned.
“She always wore it.”
“Even at night?”
“Every day. It was my anniversary gift.”
In the photograph, her wrist was bare.
Then I noticed something else.
Her right shoe was missing.
I remembered my own barefoot humiliation less than an hour earlier.
For reasons I couldn't explain, the detail made my chest ache.
Adrian reached for the telephone.
He contacted Detective Laura Bennett, the Nashville investigator Samuel had requested after Frank's attack.
When Bennett arrived, she examined the photograph without speaking.
Then she asked Adrian a difficult question.
“Have you ever reviewed the full medical examiner's report from your wife's death?”
He shook his head.
“My attorney handled it. I was barely functioning.”
“The reported injuries included trauma consistent with the crash. But the file also mentioned bruising around one wrist.”
Adrian stared at her.
“What kind of bruising?”
“The sort that can happen when somebody grabs another person's arm.”
He looked away.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Bennett continued.
“That's not proof of an assault. But combined with this photograph, it's enough to review the original investigation.”
Samuel interrupted.
“There's another problem.”
He placed his tablet on the desk.
The security recordings from tonight showed Owen Mercer's dark SUV leaving the estate at 7:41 p.m.
Twelve minutes after Delilah's damaged Mercedes returned to the garage.
“Where was he going?” Adrian asked.
“We don't know.”
“Find out.”
Bennett shook her head.
“Let my officers handle that. You've already got a possible witness-intimidation case, and I don't want evidence compromised.”
Adrian didn't like being told what to do.
But he nodded.
I realized he was trying something difficult for a man accustomed to controlling everything.
He was allowing someone else to investigate.
At 10:18 p.m., Samuel received confirmation that Frank's condition was stable.
Relief washed over me.
Then I remembered my children.
My ten-year-old son, Ethan, and seven-year-old daughter, Sophie, were spending the evening with our neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez.
I'd promised to be home before bedtime.
Adrian noticed my expression.
“Your children?”
I nodded.
“I need to let them know I'm safe.”
He handed me his telephone.
My own had been left charging in the staff kitchen.
Mrs. Alvarez answered immediately.
“Sweetheart, are you all right? Ethan's worried.”
I swallowed.
“I'm fine. I'm just working late.”
“Mom?”
My son's voice came through.
“Did something happen?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
He hesitated.
“Because Mrs. Alvarez made hot chocolate, but Sophie says she wants to save yours.”
My throat tightened.
“Tell her I'll drink it tomorrow.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
When I ended the call, Adrian was looking at the family photograph on my telephone's screen.
“You have two beautiful children.”
“Thank you.”
“Do they know about tonight?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He paused.
“They shouldn't have to.”
For the first time, his expression softened.
Then Samuel returned with information about Bay 14.
The old freight yard had been scheduled for demolition.
Construction would begin Monday morning.
Adrian looked at the photograph.
“Then we're going there before Monday.”
Detective Bennett raised a hand.
“Not without a search warrant or the owner's permission.”
“Who owns it?”
Samuel checked the property records.
His face changed.
“Prescott Holdings.”
Adrian leaned backward.
Delilah's family owned the very place where Mara had last been photographed alive.
Bennett studied the image again.
“Mr. Kingsley, there's something else you need to know.”
She enlarged the picture.
Behind Mara stood a dark vehicle.
Its driver's door was open.
A small figure was visible through the windshield.
I recognized the silver bracelet dangling from the person's wrist.
The same bracelet I'd noticed in tonight's security footage.
Adrian whispered, “Brooke.”
Detective Bennett looked at him.
“Your fiancée's sister?”
“Yes.”
Bennett examined the photograph more closely.
May you like
Then she delivered the discovery that changed everything.
“Mr. Kingsley, Brooke Prescott was inside that vehicle five years ago. And according to the original accident report, she was the person who called 911.”
