Chapter 8 - The Camera Went Dark)
Ethan called Detective Park before leaving the bedroom.
"Stay inside," she told him. "Officers are on the way."
On the camera feed, Georgia's pale face appeared briefly beneath the yard light. The hooded man held the door while she entered the shed. He turned toward the camera.
Even through the rain-speckled lens, Kristin saw silver hair and the bright reflection of glasses.
Martin Vale.
The feed went black.
"He saw it," Ethan said.
They heard metal strike the exterior wall. Once. Twice. The camera had been torn from its mount.
The back door handle moved.
Kristin stepped away. Ethan placed himself between her and the door, gripping the heavy flashlight he kept near the alarm panel. The new deadbolt held.
Someone tapped the glass.
Georgia's face appeared beyond it.
"Ethan," she called. "Let me in. We need to talk."
"Who is with you?"
"No one."
"I saw Vale."
For a moment, only the porch light reflected in her eyes.
"He came because of Rachel," she said. "He has information."
"Then he can give it to the police."
Georgia leaned closer to the glass. "The police will destroy what is left of this family."
"You did that."
Her face changed. The grief vanished, leaving something sharp and impatient.
"Open the door."
"No."
"I am your mother."
"And Kristin is my wife. You poisoned her."
"I kept her calm. She was becoming dangerous."
Kristin felt Ethan flinch.
The admission came so naturally that Georgia did not seem to understand she had made it.
"You altered her vitamins," he said.
"She was digging into things she couldn't understand. I needed time to reason with her. Nothing I gave her could hurt the baby."
"You don't get to decide that."
Red light washed across the front wall as police vehicles turned onto the street.
Georgia looked toward the side gate. "You called them."
"Yes."
She backed away from the door. "Then whatever happens next is on you."
By the time officers entered the backyard, Georgia and Vale were gone. The rear path split at the alley, and the wet pavement held no prints. Georgia's car remained at her condominium, suggesting Vale had driven her.
Inside the shed, someone had opened a section of wall behind the workbench. The narrow cavity contained empty shelves and outlines in the dust where rectangular boxes had rested.
"They came for records," Park said.
"What kind?" Ethan asked.
"Whatever Evergreen didn't lose in the fire."
The detective issued a request to locate Georgia for questioning. Vale's photograph went to patrol officers and nearby agencies. Neither was charged yet, but Georgia's recorded admission gave Park enough to seek warrants.
At sunrise, officers searched Georgia's condominium.
They found it nearly empty.
Her clothing was gone. The refrigerator had been unplugged. On the kitchen table sat the forged journal, a stack of printed articles about prenatal mental illness, and a typed letter addressed to Ethan.
Park brought the letter to the house in an evidence sleeve.
Ethan read it aloud.
My son,
By the time you understand what Kristin has done, it may be too late. She has manipulated you into reopening Rachel's tragedy because she wants to separate you from every person who loved you before her. I tried to protect your baby from her instability. If that makes me a criminal in your eyes, so be it.
Rachel's death was an accident. Your father and Dr. Vale covered it up to protect you. I opposed them, but I was afraid. The proof was in a blue steel box. Kristin found it and hid it because it reveals that Rachel suffered from the same illness now consuming your wife.
When you are ready to hear the truth without Kristin beside you, call the number below.
Your mother
The telephone number belonged to a prepaid device that was already disconnected.
"She changed the story," Kristin said. "Yesterday Rachel ran from the maternity home. Now Rachel died in an accident."
"And she says you found the box," Park noted. "That may be an attempt to redirect attention, but it confirms the box exists."
Ethan turned the letter over. Nothing was written on the back.
"She wants me to doubt Kristin," he said. "Even now."
Park took the letter. "Manipulation works best when it uses a real fear. Your mother knows which one belongs to you."
After the detective left, Ethan repaired the broken camera. Kristin went through Georgia's remaining items in the guest room with gloved hands, looking for anything the police might have missed.
Behind the framed family photograph, she found a shallow compartment cut into the backing.
Inside was a bank deposit slip dated October 22, 1999.
Twenty-four thousand dollars had been deposited into an account belonging to Mercer Family Services.
May you like
On the memo line, someone had written one word.
Placement.
