Chapter 4 - The Accident That Wasn't)
Grace had spent four years believing Daniel's death was an accident.
A rainy road.
A sharp curve.
A truck that crossed the center line.
A tragedy nobody could explain and nobody could undo.
By midnight, Detective Bennett had reopened the file.
Peter slept on a couch in a secured interview room at the police station while Grace sat across from Bennett.
The original crash report lay between them.
"Daniel was driving north on Route 41," Bennett said. "At 10:18 p.m. his car left the roadway and struck a concrete barrier."
Grace nodded.
"I know."
"The report says another driver witnessed a dark pickup truck forcing him toward the shoulder."
Grace looked up.
"What?"
"You were never told?"
"No."
"The witness couldn't identify the truck. The case remained classified as a single-vehicle collision because there was no physical contact."
Grace felt sick.
Bennett continued.
"The witness also reported Daniel was traveling normally before the truck appeared."
Grace remembered the police officer standing in her kitchen.
The words accident and weather and tragic.
Nobody had mentioned another vehicle.
"Why was that left out?"
"I'm trying to determine that."
The detective slid another document toward her.
"The responding officer retired two years later."
"Who?"
"Sergeant Michael Dean."
Grace stared at the name.
She knew it.
Richard had mentioned a Michael Dean before.
A friend.
One of the men who had attended their engagement party.
Grace's hands went cold.
"He knows Richard."
Bennett stopped.
"You're certain?"
"He came to our house."
"When?"
"Three or four times. Richard said they played golf together."
Bennett stood immediately and crossed to the door.
Within minutes, officers were searching records.
Michael Dean had not merely known Richard.
He had received payments from a consulting company tied to Northstar Strategic Holdings.
The payments started two weeks before Daniel's death.
Grace sat motionless.
The life she had trusted was collapsing in layers.
First Richard's name.
Then his marriages.
Now Daniel.
At 1:20 a.m., Bennett returned.
"We found Dean."
"Where?"
"At home."
"Is he arrested?"
"We brought him in voluntarily."
Grace laughed without humor.
"Voluntarily?"
"We need probable cause for an arrest."
"He buried information about my husband's death."
"And we're working on proving why."
Bennett sat again.
"Grace, I need to ask something difficult."
Grace waited.
"During the months before Daniel died, did he ever seem frightened?"
She remembered impatience.
Late nights.
Phone calls he took outside.
A lock he installed on his office.
One evening he had asked Grace whether she would ever consider moving.
She had laughed and asked if he had been fired.
He never answered.
"I thought he was stressed."
"Did he ever mention Northstar?"
"No."
"Thomas Hale?"
"No."
"Rebecca Hart?"
Grace shook her head.
Peter stirred on the couch.
Grace looked at him.
Daniel had hidden everything to protect them.
And Richard had found them anyway.
Bennett's phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression changed as she listened.
"Where?"
A pause.
"Don't touch anything."
She hung up.
"They found Richard's car."
Grace stood.
"Where?"
"Twenty miles outside the city."
"Was he there?"
"No."
The car had been abandoned behind a closed grocery store.
Inside police found Richard's tuxedo jacket.
His phone.
His wallet.
Everything that could identify him as Richard Coleman.
He had left his identity behind.
Grace realized what that meant.
"He has another one."
Bennett nodded.
"Probably several."
By morning, federal agents were involved.
The names from Peter's documents were entered into multiple databases.
Richard Coleman.
Thomas Hale.
Nathaniel Cross.
Andrew Mercer.
Jonathan Reed.
Each identity had existed for several years.
Each had bank accounts, credit histories, employment records.
Each was almost flawless.
Almost.
The pattern was the women.
Widows.
Divorcees.
Women with inherited property.
Women with businesses.
Women with life insurance.
Richard entered their lives slowly.
He became indispensable.
Then assets moved.
Beneficiaries changed.
Some marriages lasted years.
Others only months.
Three women were confirmed dead.
Two had disappeared.
One, Rebecca Hart, had never officially been declared dead.
And Grace had almost become the next bride.
At 8:07 a.m., an officer entered carrying Peter's backpack.
"We finished inventory."
He placed several items on the table.
The documents Peter had taken.
Daniel's watch.
And a folded card Grace had never seen.
Peter woke as the card appeared.
"That wasn't mine."
Bennett opened it.
Inside was a message written by hand.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LET YOUR MOTHER GET MARRIED.
Grace grabbed Peter.
The note had been inside his backpack.
At the wedding.
Someone had placed it there after Peter entered the hall.
Which meant Richard had not been working alone.
Bennett looked toward the crowded station.
Guests.
Officers.
Wedding staff.
Family.
Someone among them had known what Peter was about to reveal.
And that person was still close enough to reach his belongings.
Peter whispered, "Mom?"
Grace looked down.
"What?"
"Richard wasn't the only person who saw me in his office."
"Who else?"
May you like
Peter swallowed.
"Uncle Mark."
