Chapter 5 - THE NIGHT HIS FATHER DIED
I called Detective Torres before the video screen had completely gone dark.
She answered on the second ring.
“Torres.”
“It’s Rachel.”
“What happened?”
I spoke too quickly.
“She called me. She has Lorraine’s notebook. Caleb’s cousin came into the house. She said there was another recording from the night Caleb’s father died, then the call ended.”
“Where is she?”
“San Antonio.”
“Address?”
“I don’t know.”
“Full name?”
“Rachel Mercer Lawson.”
“I’m calling San Antonio police. Stay where you are.”
“I wasn’t going anywhere.”
The words came out sharper than I intended.
Torres paused.
“I know.”
Fifteen minutes later, she called again.
Officers had been sent to Rachel’s registered address.
Nobody answered.
Her car was in the driveway.
The front door was unlocked.
Rachel was gone.
So was Caleb’s cousin, Travis Mercer.
For the first time since entering the shelter, I felt the walls around me differently.
Not as protection.
As something people might try to penetrate.
Dana noticed.
“You’re safe here.”
“Rachel thought she was safe in her own house.”
“We have security.”
“So did the hospital.”
Dana did not argue.
Instead, she pulled a chair closer.
“Fear doesn’t disappear because the lock gets better.”
I stared at her.
“Then what does?”
“Sometimes nothing. Sometimes time. Sometimes learning that fear can be present without making the decisions.”
That sounded impossible.
But two hours later, when Sophie asked if she could go outside to the courtyard, I almost said no.
Then I remembered Dana’s words.
Fear could be present without making the decision.
So I went outside with them.
I sat beneath a pecan tree while Sophie pushed Mia on a swing.
For twenty-three minutes, they looked like children again.
No whispers.
No listening for footsteps.
No watching my face to see whether Daddy was angry.
That alone felt like rebellion.
At 4:40 p.m., Detective Torres arrived.
She sat across from me in one of the shelter’s private offices.
“Rachel has been located.”
I exhaled.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s shaken. Not injured.”
“What happened?”
“Travis came to her house because Lorraine called him from jail.”
My skin prickled.
“She called him?”
“Apparently before restrictions were fully in place. She told him Rachel had something that belonged to her.”
“The notebook.”
“Yes.”
“Did he take it?”
“No.”
Relief.
“Rachel had already moved it.”
“The deposit box.”
Torres nodded.
“She wasn’t bluffing.”
“What about the recording?”
Torres leaned back.
“That’s where things get complicated.”
I waited.
“Caleb’s father, Henry Mercer, died five years ago.”
“I know.”
“Official cause?”
“Heart attack.”
“At home?”
“Yes.”
I remembered that night.
I had been pregnant with Mia.
Caleb came home at 2:00 a.m.
He did not cry.
He sat at the kitchen table while Lorraine made coffee.
When I tried to touch his shoulder, he told me not to.
The funeral had been small.
Lorraine insisted Henry hated attention.
I barely knew him.
He was quiet.
Withdrawn.
Often away for work.
But once, when Sophie was a baby, Henry stood beside me in the kitchen while Lorraine criticized the way I held her.
After Lorraine left, Henry whispered, “Don’t listen to everything she says.”
At the time, I thought it was kindness.
Now I wondered if it had been a warning.
“Rachel says Henry was planning to leave Lorraine,” Torres said.
My mouth opened.
“What?”
“She found emails after his death.”
I sat back.
“He was going to divorce her?”
“Yes.”
“What does that have to do with us?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Torres placed her phone on the table.
“Rachel gave permission for us to retrieve the box. Inside was the notebook, copies of Henry’s emails, and a digital voice recorder.”
My pulse quickened.
“The recording.”
“Yes.”
“Did you listen?”
“Part of it.”
I watched her face.
“What happened?”
“The night Henry died, he and Lorraine argued.”
My stomach tightened.
“About what?”
“Caleb.”
I wasn’t expecting that.
Torres continued.
“Henry accused Lorraine of turning their son into someone cruel.”
My eyes filled before I could stop them.
Not because I cared what Henry thought of Caleb.
Because somebody had seen it years before me.
Somebody inside that family had known.
“What did Lorraine say?”
“She blamed Henry for being weak.”
I almost laughed.
It sounded exactly like her.
“Then?”
“Henry said he was leaving and that he intended to change his will.”
I frowned.
“His will?”
“Rachel believes that mattered.”
“Why?”
“Henry owned mineral rights.”
I blinked.
The Mercers lived like we were always one missed paycheck from disaster.
Caleb complained about rent.
Lorraine hoarded coupons.
They borrowed money.
“What mineral rights?”
“Property in West Texas. Most were sold years ago. But one tract became more valuable after his death.”
“How valuable?”
Torres hesitated.
“Potentially several million dollars.”
I stared at her.
“That’s impossible.”
“Rachel said the family received payments after Henry died. She doesn’t know where the money went.”
I thought about Caleb’s constant claims that we were broke.
The locked accounts.
Lorraine’s suitcase full of cash.
“Did Caleb have money?”
“We’re checking.”
“But what’s on the recording?”
Torres folded her hands.
“Henry threatens to remove Caleb from the trust.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“Why?”
“Because he learned Caleb had assaulted a former girlfriend.”
The room went silent.
“What?”
“Before you.”
“How did I never know?”
“Because the case disappeared.”
“Cases don’t disappear.”
“No. But witnesses sometimes stop cooperating.”
My mouth went dry.
“Who was she?”
“Emily Parker.”
I stared.
The last name landed hard.
“Parker?”
Torres nodded.
“Margaret Parker’s daughter.”
The elderly neighbor.
The woman who had watched me across the fence.
The woman I had nearly listed as the only person I trusted.
“No.”
“She lived next door to the Mercer family twenty years ago.”
My thoughts scattered.
“Mrs. Parker knew?”
“We believe so.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
Anger rushed through me.
She saw.
She knew who Caleb was.
And she still watched me live beside him.
Torres must have seen my expression.
“People carry fear for a long time.”
“She watched my daughters play in that yard.”
“I know.”
“She brought us soup when I was sick.”
“I know.”
“She could have told me.”
“Yes.”
That answer hurt more because Torres didn’t defend her.
“What happened to Emily?”
“She moved to Oregon.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“Will she talk?”
“We’ve contacted her.”
I stood and walked toward the small window.
Outside, Sophie and Mia were drawing with chalk.
Two little figures holding hands beneath a purple sun.
“What does Henry say at the end of the recording?”
Torres was silent.
I turned.
“What?”
“That’s the part we’re working on.”
“Jessica.”
It was the first time I used her first name.
“Tell me.”
She looked down at the table.
“Henry tells Lorraine that if she doesn’t stop protecting Caleb, he’s going to the police.”
“About Emily?”
“About Emily. Financial crimes. Other things.”
“What other things?”
“He mentions a storage unit.”
I stared.
“What storage unit?”
“We don’t know.”
“Rachel?”
“She doesn’t know either.”
Torres stood.
“But Lorraine did.”
“How can you tell?”
“Because on the recording, the moment Henry says the words ‘storage unit,’ Lorraine stops arguing.”
A chill ran through me.
“What happens next?”
“A door closes.”
“And?”
“Ten minutes of silence.”
“And then?”
Torres looked directly at me.
“Caleb arrives.”
I gripped the windowsill.
“Caleb was there the night his father died?”
“According to the recording.”
“He told me he got the call afterward.”
“I know.”
My breath became shallow.
“What does he say?”
Torres reached for her phone.
“We enhanced part of it.”
She pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then Henry’s voice.
Faint.
Angry.
“You brought him here?”
Lorraine.
“He has a right to know.”
Then Caleb.
Younger.
But unmistakable.
“Know what?”
Henry answered.
“That I’m done cleaning up your mess.”
My stomach dropped.
The recording crackled.
Caleb said something we couldn’t hear.
Then Henry spoke clearly again.
“The unit opens tomorrow.”
A loud noise.
A chair, maybe.
Lorraine shouted.
Then the recording ended.
“That’s it?” I whispered.
“For that file.”
“That file?”
Torres nodded.
“There are six files on the recorder.”
My skin went cold.
“What’s on the others?”
“Mostly older conversations.”
“Mostly?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
Then her phone rang.
Torres checked the screen.
“Excuse me.”
She answered.
“Torres.”
Her posture changed.
“When?”
Silence.
“Who authorized it?”
Another pause.
Her eyes widened.
“Lock it down.”
She ended the call.
“What happened?”
“The storage unit.”
“You found it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Outside Arlington.”
“What’s inside?”
“They haven’t opened it.”
“Why not?”
Torres grabbed her bag.
“Because someone else got there first.”
My heart lurched.
“Who?”
“The facility manager says a man came twenty minutes ago with the original key.”
“Caleb is in jail.”
“I know.”
“Travis?”
“We don’t know.”
Torres headed for the door.
Then stopped.
Her next sentence froze me.
“The manager says the man claimed to be Henry Mercer.”
I stared at her.
“Henry has been dead for five years.”
May you like
Torres opened the door.
“That’s exactly why I’m going.”
