Chapter 6: The Evidence They Never Wanted Me to Find
I called my mother immediately.
She answered after the first ring.
"Marcus?""
"Mom, are you inside the house?""
"Yes, sweetheart. Why?""
"Lock the doors. Don't open them for anyone.""
There was a pause.
"What's happened?""
"Just do it, please.""
I heard the front door lock.
Then the chain.
"Marcus, you're frightening me.""
"I'm coming home.""
I ended the call.
Daniel, my friend, was already standing.
"We'll drive.""
Daniel Whitmore remained seated.
"Wait.""
I turned toward him.
"What now?""
He picked up his phone.
"There's something else you need to understand.""
"I don't have time.""
"Then listen while we walk.""
He grabbed his coat.
"The police report Graham has is not the only copy. Your father arranged for an independent investigator to keep the original evidence.""
I stopped.
"Who?""
"A private investigator named Arthur Collins.""
"Is he still alive?""
"Yes. But he hasn't been active for years.""
"Where is he?""
Daniel Whitmore gave me an address.
"Marietta.""
I stared at him.
"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?""
"Because I needed to be certain you had the blue folder. Without it, Arthur wouldn't speak to you.""
Daniel, my friend, frowned.
"Why would a private investigator refuse to talk to the son of the man he investigated?""
The older man looked at him.
"Because he was instructed not to.""
"By whom?""
Daniel Whitmore hesitated.
Then he said:
"By Evelyn.""
I turned toward him.
"My mother?""
He nodded.
I felt a fresh wave of confusion.
"Why would my mother tell an investigator not to speak to me?""
"Because she believed the investigation had put your life in danger.""
I shook my head.
"That's impossible.""
"Your father was killed when you were seven. The threats didn't stop after his death. Evelyn received letters.
Anonymous calls. Someone followed you home from school.""
I stared at him.
I remembered fragments.
My mother waiting outside my classroom.
The curtains always closed at night.
Her insistence that I never walk home alone.
I'd thought she was simply protective.
Now those memories took on a darker meaning.
Daniel Whitmore continued.
"She made a deal with Arthur. He would keep the evidence safe, and she would never attempt to pursue the case.""
I looked at him.
"And she agreed?""
"She had a seven-year-old son to protect.""
I couldn't answer.
We hurried downstairs.
Daniel, my friend, drove while I called Mom every few minutes.
When we reached her street, the black SUV was gone.
But the front door was open.
My heart stopped.
"Mom!""
I ran across the lawn.
The door swung inward.
A chair had been knocked over in the living room.
The kitchen drawer was open.
Several papers were scattered across the floor.
"Mom!""
A voice answered from upstairs.
"Marcus?""
I took the stairs two at a time.
She was standing in her bedroom.
The blue folder was missing.
But she was safe.
I rushed toward her.
"Are you hurt?""
She shook her head.
"No.""
"Who came inside?""
She pointed toward the window.
"I heard someone downstairs. I thought it was you.""
I examined the room.
The wardrobe doors were open.
The suitcase had been pulled onto the floor.
Someone had searched through it.
"Did you see their face?""
Mom nodded.
"Yes.""
"Who?""
Her lips trembled.
"Graham.""
Daniel stepped into the doorway.
"Did he take anything else?""
Mom looked at the empty space on the dresser.
"My wedding photograph.""
I frowned.
"Which one?""
She pointed to the framed picture of her and Dad.
The frame was lying face down.
The photograph had been removed.
I picked it up.
A small folded note had been placed behind it.
I opened it.
*STOP LOOKING FOR WHAT YOUR HUSBAND LEFT BEHIND.*
I looked at Mom.
She was crying silently.
I pulled her into my arms.
"I'm sorry.""
She shook her head against my chest.
"No, baby. This isn't your fault.""
I held her for a moment.
Then I stepped back.
"Where's the blue folder?""
Mom looked toward the wardrobe.
"I hid it.""
I stared.
"What?""
She reached behind a stack of folded blankets and removed a second folder.
This one was thinner.
It contained photocopies of the original documents.
"Your father always told me to make copies," she explained.
"I thought someone might come looking for the originals.""
I took it.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
She gave a sad smile.
"Because I hoped you'd never need them.""
Daniel checked the back door.
"They're gone. Whoever came here knew exactly what they wanted.""
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
*The vault appointment is still scheduled for tomorrow. Don't miss it.*
I showed Daniel.
He frowned.
"Who's sending this?""
I didn't know.
Another message appeared.
*Bring the blue folder. Bring Evelyn.*
I felt my jaw tighten.
"No.""
Mom looked at the screen.
"Marcus, perhaps we should go to the police.""
"We will. But first, we need to speak to the investigator.""
I looked at Daniel.
"Can you take Mom to your house?""
He nodded.
"Of course.""
Mom immediately protested.
"I'm not leaving you.""
"Mom, please.""
She took my hand.
"Your father would never have wanted you to put yourself in danger over this.""
I looked at her.
"And he wouldn't have wanted you threatened in your own home.""
She lowered her eyes.
I kissed her forehead.
"We're going to find out what happened. All of it.""
Arthur Collins lived in a small house outside Marietta.
The property was surrounded by tall pine trees.
A rusted mailbox leaned toward the road.
Daniel waited in the car while I approached the front door.
I knocked twice.
No answer.
I knocked again.
A curtain moved.
An elderly man appeared behind the glass.
He opened the door only a few inches.
"Yes?""
"Mr. Collins?""
"Who wants to know?""
"My name is Marcus Bennett. My father was Samuel Bennett.""
The man's expression changed.
He looked past me toward the road.
Then he opened the door.
"Get inside.""
The house smelled of old books and furniture polish.
Photographs covered one wall.
Most showed people standing beside cars, buildings, or courthouse entrances.
Arthur moved slowly toward an armchair.
"Your mother told me this day might come.""
I sat opposite him.
"Did you investigate my father's death?""
He nodded.
"For eleven months.""
"What did you find?""
He stared at his hands.
"Your father didn't die because of a faulty brake line.""
My stomach tightened.
"Then what happened?""
Arthur leaned forward.
"The brake line was deliberately cut.""
I felt my chest tighten.
"Who did it?""
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stood and walked toward a locked filing cabinet.
He returned with a thick envelope.
Across the front, my father's name was written in black ink.
"I've kept this for twenty-four years," he said.
I took it.
Inside were photographs.
A vehicle inspection report.
A list of phone records.
And a handwritten statement from a mechanic.
I read the first page.
The mechanic had inspected my father's car two days before the accident.
Everything had been functioning normally.
Then I reached the next page.
It was a photograph of a man standing beside my father's vehicle on the night before the crash.
His face was partly visible.
But I recognized the profile.
Thomas Whitmore.
I looked up.
"Is this real?""
Arthur nodded.
"The photograph was taken by a security camera outside the warehouse.""
"Why wasn't it given to the police?""
"It was.""
I frowned.
"What?""
Arthur removed another document.
A police evidence receipt.
It listed the photograph as an exhibit.
But someone had crossed out the entry.
The name beside the correction was that of a detective.
I read it aloud.
"Detective Robert Haines.""
Arthur nodded.
"He was the lead investigator.""
"What happened to him?""
"He retired shortly afterward.""
"Is he alive?""
Arthur looked at me.
"Yes.""
I leaned forward.
"Then we need to speak to him.""
Arthur shook his head.
"Not yet.""
"Why?""
"Because there's a reason this evidence disappeared.""
He placed another photograph on the table.
It showed Thomas Whitmore entering a restaurant.
Beside him was a woman.
My mother's face appeared in the background.
I stared.
"That's Mom.""
Arthur nodded.
"She followed him after receiving an anonymous letter.""
I felt a knot form in my stomach.
"What did she discover?""
Arthur pointed toward the woman beside Thomas.
"That woman was Margaret Ellis.""
I remembered the name.
The bookkeeper.
Nia's mother.
Arthur continued.
"Margaret had been keeping a second set of financial records. She knew exactly where Thomas had moved the stolen money.""
"Did she testify?""
"No.""
"Why?""
"Because she disappeared.""
I stared at the photograph.
"Was she killed?""
Arthur looked away.
"We never proved it.""
I stood.
"What does this have to do with Nia?""
Arthur studied me.
"Everything.""
He walked to another cabinet and removed a small cassette recorder.
"I received this recording two weeks before your father died. He asked me to keep it safe.""
He pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then my father's voice emerged.
"Arthur, if you're hearing this, something has happened.""
I stopped breathing.
It was Dad.
His voice was older than the one I remembered from childhood recordings, but unmistakable.
"Thomas has become desperate. Margaret has told me everything. The money wasn't the only thing he stole.""
A pause.
Then Dad continued.
"He has been using the Whitmore property company to move money belonging to several clients. Some of those clients are elderly people who trusted him with their life savings.""
Arthur stopped the recording.
I stared at him.
"Play the rest.""
He pressed the button.
Dad's voice returned.
"And there's one person I need you to protect if I don't make it.""
A faint rustling sound followed.
Then he said a name.
"Patricia.""
I looked up.
Nia's mother.
Dad continued.
"She knows what happened to Margaret. She has the original ledger. If Thomas finds out where she's hidden it, he'll destroy everything.""
The recording ended.
I sat motionless.
Arthur switched off the machine.
"Your father was trying to protect Patricia.""
I shook my head.
"But why would Nia's mother help the Whitmores?""
Arthur looked at me.
"Because she was afraid.""
"Afraid of what?""
He hesitated.
Then he removed one last photograph.
It showed a young Patricia holding a baby.
The child was Nia.
On the back, my father's handwriting read:
Patricia and her daughter. They must be protected.
I stared at the photograph.
"Why would my father care about Nia?""
Arthur's voice softened.
"Because he knew her before you did.""
I felt my stomach drop.
"That's impossible.""
Arthur shook his head.
"No, Marcus. Your father knew Patricia long before you were born. And he knew something about her daughter that you have never been told.""
I looked at the photograph again.
Then my phone rang.
Mom.
I answered immediately.
"Mom?""
Her voice was barely audible.
"Marcus, sweetheart, I need you to listen carefully.""
"What's wrong?""
"I just received a call from Patricia.""
I stood.
"What did she say?""
Mom began crying.
"She said Graham has taken her.""
My heart pounded.
"Where?""
"I don't know. But she told me something before the call ended.""
"What?""
Mom took a shaky breath.
"She said Nia isn't the person we should be afraid of.""
I looked at Arthur.
Then Mom whispered:
"She said the man who arranged your father's accident is still alive.""
I gripped the phone.
"Who?""
Mom's next words changed everything.
"Your father didn't die because of Thomas Whitmore, Marcus.""
May you like
She paused.
"He died because someone in our own family betrayed him.""
