Chapter 5 - MARGARET’S COAT
“Miriam would never sign that.”
Inspector Grant did not argue.
He simply held my gaze.
“The authorization came from Ms. Shaw’s verified account.”
“That doesn’t mean she sent it.”
He glanced at my watch.
“Considering what you’ve already told us about stolen credentials, perhaps not.”
That answer surprised me.
He was not behaving like a man sent to silence us.
He was behaving like a man who knew the situation was poisoned.
Adrian stepped beside me.
“She needs a hospital.”
Grant looked at my shoulder.
“Yes.”
He turned to another officer.
“Call the ambulance through our own dispatch. No private Blackwood medical service.”
Edmund, already handcuffed, gave a small approving nod.
Grant noticed.
“You have something to add?”
“No.”
“You looked pleased.”
“I’m pleased somebody in this room understands procedure.”
Grant ignored him.
I looked at the complaint form displayed on the officer’s tablet.
Miriam’s digital signature sat at the bottom.
Timestamp: 8:41 p.m.
The livestream began at 9:03.
Twenty-two minutes earlier.
Only Adrian and I knew the precise time we intended to activate it.
Or so I had believed.
Grant followed my eyes.
“Recognize something?”
“The timing.”
I looked at Adrian.
“Somebody knew.”
He reached for my hand.
“Who had access to the plan?”
“No one.”
Then a memory hit me.
Three nights earlier, at the foundation office, I had stayed late copying pension records.
My coat had been hanging on the back of my chair.
My watch sat inside its pocket while charging from a portable battery.
For twelve minutes, I left the room to help an elderly tenant complete an emergency relocation form.
When I returned, my coat had been moved.
Only slightly.
I assumed the cleaner had done it.
My stomach turned.
“The watch.”
“What?” Adrian asked.
“Someone may have accessed it before tonight.”
Grant looked interested.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded toward my brooch.
“We’ll preserve everything.”
Edmund spoke.
“Not at the local station.”
Grant looked at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Your evidence locker was renovated by Blackwood Security Systems.”
Grant’s expression hardened.
“Do you interfere with every public institution in the county?”
Edmund gave him a tired look.
“I paid for the cameras.”
That was Edmund.
Even arrested and bleeding from a split knuckle, he could still sound intolerable.
But he was also right.
Grant clearly hated that fact.
He handed the brooch and watch to a female officer.
“Seal these and transport them directly to regional cybercrime.”
Then the paramedics arrived.
They cut the sleeve from my dress.
Adrian went pale when he saw the swelling.
“You should’ve told me it was that bad.”
“I was busy.”
“That is not funny.”
“I know.”
But he squeezed my hand anyway.
As they prepared the stretcher, an officer brought something from the entrance hall.
“Sir, we found this outside the drawing room.”
A woman’s black wool coat.
Old.
Heavy.
The label inside was faded.
M. BLACKWOOD.
Edmund’s face lost all color.
Adrian stared at it.
“Grandmother’s?”
Edmund did not answer.
The officer held the coat up.
Something fell from one pocket.
A child’s drawing.
Crayon on yellowed paper.
A house.
Three adults.
One little boy.
And beside the house, a woman with red hair holding a baby.
Across the top, in a child’s uneven handwriting:
OUR SAFE FAMILY.
Adrian picked it up carefully.
“Who drew this?”
Edmund looked at the floor.
“Thomas.”
“When?”
“He was seven.”
Adrian pointed to the red-haired woman.
“Who is she?”
Edmund’s mouth tightened.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I don’t know.”
It was the first answer he had given that sounded sincere.
I looked at the baby.
Something was drawn around its neck.
A small blue oval.
A necklace.
My hand automatically moved toward my own throat.
I was no longer wearing it.
But as a child, I had owned a little blue glass pendant.
My mother had given it to me.
She said it had belonged to someone in the family.
I lost it when I was twelve.
No.
Not lost.
My grandmother took it away.
She said it had broken.
I looked at the drawing again.
“Adrian.”
He followed my gaze.
“The necklace.”
Edmund noticed.
“What?”
“I had one like that.”
“What color?”
“Blue.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“Of course.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“Margaret had one made.”
“For whom?”
He looked at me.
“For Evelyn.”
My aunt.
I felt dizzy.
“Why would your wife give my aunt a necklace shown in a drawing made by your son twenty years earlier?”
Edmund reached for the coat.
An officer blocked him.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“Check the inside lining.”
The officer ran gloved fingers along the seam.
Near the collar was a small tear.
Something stiff sat beneath the fabric.
He carefully opened it.
Inside was a paper ticket.
A train ticket.
Edinburgh to London.
Dated November 17, 1994.
Two days after Thomas Blackwood died.
On the back, written in Margaret’s handwriting, were four words.
ROSE HAS THE BABY.
Nobody spoke.
My heart began hammering.
Adrian looked at me.
I knew exactly what he was thinking.
So did Edmund.
“My birthday,” I said slowly, “is November eighteenth, 1994.”
The paramedic beside me stopped adjusting the sling.
Adrian’s face went blank.
Edmund closed his eyes.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“No what?”
“You were never supposed to see this.”
My throat tightened.
“Why?”
When he opened his eyes again, the cruelty was gone.
In its place was something far worse.
Recognition.
“Because Rose Hart was not your mother.”
The room seemed to shrink.
He looked at the child’s drawing.
May you like
Then at me.
“Evelyn was.”
