Chapter 8 - Natalie Was Not Alone the Night Before She Died)
The man at the fence was identified two days later.
Lucas Marr.
Thirty-eight.
Former network technician.
Former contractor for the Reed house security system.
And, until three months earlier, occasional IT consultant for the Natalie Reed Foundation.
Detective Ortiz placed his photograph on the table.
Jackson recognized him.
Lucas had installed one of the exterior cameras years earlier.
"Where is he?"
"Missing."
"Since when?"
"No one has seen him since the rear entry attempt."
"You think Sloane sent him?"
"We found three payments from a foundation vendor to a company Lucas owns."
"How much?"
"Forty-two thousand dollars."
Jackson looked at the photograph.
"For what?"
"The invoices say network maintenance."
"But?"
"There are no work logs."
Jackson leaned back.
"So he gave her access to my cameras."
"Most likely."
"And deleted the garage footage."
"Possibly."
"And tried to enter my house."
"That's what we're investigating."
Ortiz turned another page.
"We also pulled traffic-camera data from the night before Natalie died."
Jackson's heart tightened.
"What did you find?"
"Natalie left the foundation office at 8:12 p.m."
"I remember."
"She drove home."
"Yes."
"Another vehicle followed her."
Jackson looked up.
"What vehicle?"
"A black Mercedes registered to Sloane."
The room became silent.
"She came to my house?"
"Her car entered your neighborhood at 8:41."
Jackson tried to remember that night.
He had been in New York on business.
Natalie had called him around ten.
She sounded tired.
He remembered telling her he loved her.
He remembered her saying she would call in the morning.
She never did.
"How long was Sloane there?"
"At least fifty minutes."
"Why didn't I know?"
"Your street doesn't have full camera coverage. But her vehicle appears again leaving at 9:36."
Jackson's mouth went dry.
"Was Natalie alive at 9:36?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"She called Margaret at 9:52."
Jackson stared.
"What did she say?"
"Margaret couldn't remember enough to be useful."
"Call records?"
"They confirm the call."
Ortiz hesitated.
"There's more."
Jackson almost laughed.
There was always more.
"A backup server at the foundation retained fragments of deleted emails."
"Between Natalie and Sloane?"
"One in particular."
Ortiz read from her notes.
Natalie had written to Sloane at 5:17 p.m. the day before the accident.
We need to speak tonight. I know what happened to the foundation money. I also changed Caleb's papers. Do not come to the office. I will talk to you at home.
Jackson gripped the table.
"She invited Sloane."
"Yes."
"And Sloane followed her there."
"Yes."
"What did Sloane reply?"
"No reply recovered."
Ortiz continued.
"But one outgoing message from Sloane's account was recovered from 10:08 p.m."
"To whom?"
"Lucas Marr."
Jackson already knew.
"What did it say?"
Ortiz looked directly at him.
Two words.
"Need access."
Jackson's skin went cold.
Access.
At 10:08.
The night before Natalie's brakes failed.
"Did Lucas answer?"
"The response is gone."
"But the garage system was accessed."
"At 11:43 p.m."
Jackson stood and walked toward the wall.
He pressed both hands against it.
He could suddenly see that night too clearly.
Natalie sleeping upstairs.
Sloane knowing the layout.
Lucas opening digital access.
A garage camera going dark.
Someone near the car.
Ortiz spoke softly.
"Jackson."
He turned.
"Tell me you can prove she touched the car."
"Not yet."
"Then find Lucas."
"We're trying."
Jackson left the station and drove home.
He found Hannah on the back patio with Caleb.
For once, the little boy was laughing.
He was chasing soap bubbles Hannah blew into the afternoon light.
Jackson stopped in the doorway.
For a moment, the investigation disappeared.
There was only Caleb.
His son.
Natalie's son.
Alive.
Safe.
Then Caleb saw him.
"Dada."
Jackson froze.
Caleb had said the word before.
But not since Natalie died.
Jackson walked outside and picked him up.
Hannah watched his face.
"What happened?"
Jackson held Caleb close.
"Sloane was here the night before Natalie died."
Hannah's smile vanished.
He told her everything.
When he finished, Hannah asked a question.
"Did Natalie keep journals?"
Jackson looked at her.
"Not really."
"Emails?"
"They're searching."
"What about Caleb?"
He frowned.
"What about him?"
"His baby things."
Jackson did not understand.
Hannah explained.
"Parents save everything when a baby is born. Cards. Notes. Hospital bracelets. Letters."
Jackson stared toward the upstairs nursery.
Natalie had created a memory box.
He had not opened it since the funeral.
They went upstairs.
The box sat on the top shelf of the nursery closet.
Jackson lowered it carefully.
Inside were photographs.
Caleb's hospital bracelet.
A lock of hair.
Birthday cards.
A folded newborn blanket.
And beneath the blanket, an envelope.
Not addressed to Jackson.
Addressed to Caleb.
For my son, when you are old enough.
Jackson stared at it.
Hannah remained silent.
He opened the envelope.
Natalie had written several pages.
Most were a mother's promises to her child.
Then, near the end, one paragraph changed everything.
If you ever wonder why I changed the people responsible for your trust, know that I did it because I learned someone close to us cared more about controlling what belonged to you than protecting you. Your father may not understand at first. I hope I have time to tell him.
Jackson stopped reading.
Then he noticed a second piece of paper inside the envelope.
A handwritten list.
Seven foundation payments.
Dates.
Amounts.
Account numbers.
May you like
And beside the final transfer, Natalie had written one name.
Sloane.
