Robert reached for my phone.
I pulled it back.
"No."
His hand remained suspended between us.
"Terry."
"No more taking things from me because you're worried about what I'll see."
He let his hand fall.
Irene moved closer.
"What does it say?"
I handed her the phone instead.
Robert watched me do it.
He understood the choice.
I wanted legal eyes on whatever came next.
Irene read both messages.
Her expression sharpened.
"Did you know anyone else was aware of the body substitution?"
Robert shook his head too quickly.
"Not outside the people we discussed."
"That's not what I asked."
He stared at her.
Irene repeated herself.
"Did anyone else know?"
Robert took a slow breath.
"There was one person."
My stomach tightened.
"Who?"
He rubbed his thumb across the handle of his cane.
"Daniel Crane."
Irene's face changed.
"You told Crane?"
"No."
"Then how did he know?"
Robert looked toward the conference-room door.
Dr. Mercer had been moved into the adjoining office while Detective Morales spoke to him. Harrison sat at the far end of the table with Detective Powell, answering preliminary questions.
Ross had left to contact his own counsel.
For the first time that morning, we had something approaching privacy.
Robert lowered his voice.
"Because Daniel arranged the body."
Irene stared at him.
"No."
"Yes."
"You told me it came through a medical examiner contact."
"It did."
"Mine."
"Not exactly."
She stepped back.
"You used Crane."
Robert closed his eyes.
"Yes."
Irene's anger was quieter than mine.
That made it colder.
"Why?"
"Because I needed it done quickly."
"You had no right to involve him."
"I know."
"You had no right to tell me a source was protected when the source was a man whose name you knew I would reject."
I looked from one to the other.
"Who is Daniel Crane?"
Neither answered immediately.
That was enough to make me furious.
I stood.
"Apparently I have spent forty-three years surrounded by people who believe silence becomes wisdom if they practice it long enough."
Robert looked at me.
"Daniel used to work for the company."
"Doing what?"
"Security investigations."
"Used to?"
"Yes."
"Why did he leave?"
Robert hesitated.
Irene answered.
"Because he crossed legal lines."
Robert gave her a sharp look.
She ignored it.
"What kind of legal lines?"
"Surveillance without proper authorization. Accessing private records. Paying people for confidential information."
I stared at Robert.
"And you called him."
"I was desperate."
"That word is doing a great deal of work today."
He looked away.
Irene held up my phone.
"How would Crane know this number?"
"I don't know."
"Does he know Theresa's private number?"
"He might."
I laughed without humor.
"Wonderful."
Robert leaned forward.
"Daniel isn't dangerous to you."
"That's exactly the kind of sentence people say before discovering otherwise."
He flinched.
Good.
My phone buzzed again in Irene's hand.
Another message.
THE MAN IN THE CASKET HAD A NAME.
My chest tightened.
Then another.
ROBERT KNEW IT.
I looked at him.
"Did you?"
He stood too quickly.
The effort made him sway.
I instinctively reached for him, then stopped myself.
He steadied against the table.
"Terry."
"Answer me."
He looked older than he had ten minutes earlier.
"Eventually."
The word chilled me.
"What does that mean?"
"When Daniel first called, he said the man was unidentified."
"First called."
"Yes."
"What happened after?"
Robert swallowed.
"He called again the next morning."
"The morning of your funeral?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"He said they had identified him."
I stared.
"What was his name?"
Robert's eyes lowered.
"Samuel Voss."
The room became very quiet.
I repeated it.
"Samuel Voss."
"Yes."
Irene crossed both arms.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Robert said nothing.
"Robert."
"I was afraid you'd stop everything."
"I would have."
"I know."
That answer hurt more than denial.
I walked to the window.
Down on the avenue, taxis moved through midday traffic.
I pressed my fingertips against the cold glass.
Samuel Voss.
A name transformed the coffin.
Until that moment, I had been able to keep thinking of the stranger as part of the deception.
A body.
A logistical problem.
Now he became a man.
Someone who had once answered to something.
Someone who may have had a family.
"Who was he?"
Robert sat again.
"Daniel said sixty-eight. No immediate family located. He had been living in temporary housing in Queens."
"How did he die?"
"Cardiac arrest."
"Are you certain?"
"According to the records Daniel showed me."
I turned.
"You saw records."
"Yes."
"So you knew enough to know exactly who was inside that coffin while I stood beside it."
His face tightened.
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
Irene said quietly, "There may be more."
I opened them.
"What?"
She looked toward Robert.
"If Crane handled the body outside authorized channels, there are likely records. Payments. Transport. Identification documents."
Robert nodded.
"I paid him."
"How much?"
"Fifty thousand."
I almost laughed again.
"Of course."
"Terry—"
"You paid a disgraced investigator fifty thousand dollars to put Samuel Voss in your coffin."
When spoken aloud, the insanity of it filled the room.
Robert rubbed both hands over his face.
"Yes."
Irene asked, "Cash?"
"Wire."
"From where?"
"A private account."
"Whose name?"
He looked at her.
"Mine."
"Good."
Robert blinked.
"Good?"
"Because at least you didn't layer fraud on top of fraud by hiding the payment."
My phone buzzed again.
This time the message contained a photograph.
Samuel Voss.
The picture looked like a driver's-license image.
Thin face.
Receding hairline.
Brown eyes.
An expression caught somewhere between exhaustion and irritation.
A real person.
Below it:
HE HAD A DAUGHTER.
Robert stood.
"No."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"Daniel said no family."
The next message came before anyone could speak.
HER NAME IS EMILY. SHE THINKS HER FATHER DISAPPEARED.
I felt sick.
Irene took the phone.
"We need to preserve all of this."
I turned toward Robert.
"You put that girl's father in your grave."
"I did not know about a daughter."
"But you knew his name."
"Yes."
"You knew before the funeral."
"Yes."
"And you said nothing."
He looked at me.
"I thought if I stopped the plan, Richard would know something was wrong. Everything would collapse."
"Everything should have collapsed."
"I know that now."
"You knew it then."
His face tightened.
"Yes."
That admission mattered.
Not because it excused him.
Because it was the first time he stopped trying to make his decision sound inevitable.
I moved closer.
"You chose your investigation over that man's dignity."
"Yes."
"You chose it over mine."
"Yes."
"You chose it because you believed catching Richard mattered more than what happened to anybody in the middle."
Robert looked at the floor.
"Yes."
I nodded.
"All right."
He looked up.
"All right?"
"Now we're finally speaking honestly."
Irene contacted Morales.
Within minutes, the detectives had both returned.
Harrison remained in the next room.
Mercer had requested counsel and was saying nothing.
Morales examined the messages.
"Do you recognize the number?"
Robert shook his head.
"Crane used several."
"Can you call him?"
"Possibly."
"Don't."
She photographed the messages.
"We'll trace what we can."
Detective Powell asked, "Where is Daniel Crane now?"
Robert looked at Irene.
"I don't know."
Irene said, "He has a residence in New Jersey and another address in Brooklyn. Neither may be current."
"Criminal history?"
"No convictions."
"Investigations?"
"Several."
Morales looked at Robert.
"You understand that moving a deceased person and manipulating identification records may expose you to serious charges."
"Yes."
"You're still willing to cooperate?"
"Yes."
I watched him answer.
No argument.
No qualification.
For the first time since seeing him alive, I believed something in him had changed.
Perhaps fear had done it.
Perhaps shame.
Perhaps it was only beginning.
Morales turned to me.
"Mrs. Ellison, whoever is sending these messages may be trying to pressure your husband by using you."
"I gathered that."
"Don't respond."
"I won't."
"Change nothing about your routine without telling us."
I almost smiled.
"Detective, I've had enough people giving me routines for one lifetime."
To her credit, Morales nodded.
"Fair. Then let me say this: if the sender contacts you, preserve it. Don't meet anyone alone."
"That I can agree to."
Harrison emerged twenty minutes later.
His face was gray.
He had apparently given Powell enough information to earn the right to remain sitting without handcuffs.
He saw Robert.
Then me.
"What's happening?"
Irene asked Morales whether Harrison could hear.
The detective considered it.
"Some of it."
I looked at my son.
"Did you ever hear Richard mention Daniel Crane?"
Harrison went still.
Robert noticed.
"You know him."
Harrison shook his head.
"Not know."
"What does that mean?"
"I've heard the name."
"When?"
He looked toward the detectives.
"Months ago."
Robert leaned forward.
"Months?"
"Richard said Dad used to have a guy who could find anything."
My skin prickled.
"What else?"
Harrison swallowed.
"He asked me if I remembered the name."
"Did you?"
"No."
"Then?"
"I heard Richard on the phone later. He said Daniel."
Irene looked at Robert.
"When?"
Harrison frowned, trying to remember.
"June? Maybe July."
Three months before the funeral.
Robert said, "I hadn't contacted Crane then."
Irene's expression sharpened.
"So Richard may have."
Harrison looked sick.
"I don't know."
"What did Richard want?"
"I don't know."
"Think," Robert said.
Harrison bristled.
"I am."
I put a hand on Robert's shoulder.
He stopped.
Harrison watched the gesture.
I removed my hand.
"Tell us what you actually remember."
He took a breath.
"Richard was angry about the trust."
"That we know."
"He said Dad had hidden accounts."
Robert frowned.
"I hadn't."
"I know that now."
"What did Crane have to do with it?"
"I think Richard wanted someone to look into Irene."
Irene's eyebrows lifted.
"Me?"
"He thought you were moving assets somewhere he couldn't reach."
"Did he hire Crane?"
"I don't know."
"But he had his number."
"Yes."
Detective Morales wrote something down.
Then my phone buzzed.
Everyone looked at it.
A new message.
ASK HARRISON WHAT RICHARD OFFERED CRANE.
Harrison stared at the screen.
I looked at him.
"What did Richard offer Crane?"
His face lost what little color remained.
"I don't know."
The sender replied almost immediately.
HE DOES.
I held the phone toward Harrison.
"Do you?"
His eyes filled with panic.
"Mom."
"Do you?"
He looked at Robert.
Then at Irene.
Then at the detectives.
"He offered him money."
"How much?"
"I don't know."
"For what?"
Harrison whispered, "To find out where Dad kept the original will."
Robert stared at him.
"Before or after I changed it?"
"After."
Irene asked, "How did Richard know the will had changed?"
Harrison looked down.
"Mercer told him."
All eyes turned toward the office where the doctor sat with his lawyer.
Irene frowned.
"How would Mercer know?"
Harrison rubbed both hands over his face.
"Because Mercer was treating Dad."
Robert said, "Not legally."
"I know."
Harrison looked toward me.
"Richard had him looking through Dad's medical stuff. He thought if Dad looked mentally weak enough, he could challenge anything Dad signed."
Robert sat very still.
"So the poisoning wasn't the first plan."
"No."
"What was?"
"Make you look incompetent."
The words hung there.
I looked at Robert.
For all the ways he had failed me, I suddenly understood one more thing.
The trap built around me had first been built around him.
Medical doubt.
Documents.
Family testimony.
Someone saying he was confused.
Someone else holding the pen.
The same mechanism.
Only after he resisted had they turned toward me.
Harrison spoke through tears.
"Richard said if we could prove Dad wasn't competent when he signed the new will, the old estate plan would control."
Irene shook her head.
"It wouldn't have helped as much as he thought."
"He didn't know that."
"Clearly."
Robert asked, "And when that failed?"
Harrison closed his eyes.
"Mercer started increasing whatever he was giving you."
"Whatever."
Harrison opened his eyes.
"I never saw the bottle."
"You heard them talk about it."
"Yes."
"You did nothing."
"Yes."
Robert sat back.
That single yes hurt him more than any explanation could have.
I knew because I felt the same.
Detective Morales looked toward Harrison.
"You're going to need an attorney."
He nodded.
"I know."
"Until then, don't volunteer additional statements you haven't been advised to give."
Harrison stared at his hands.
"Can I ask my mother something?"
Morales looked at me.
"That's her decision."
I nodded.
Harrison looked up.
"Do you believe I wanted Dad dead?"
It was the worst question he could have asked.
Because he wanted a mother's answer.
Not a factual one.
I stood.
"I believe you heard people discuss actions that could kill him."
His face twisted.
"I believe you understood enough to be afraid."
He started crying.
"And instead of telling me, or him, or anyone who could stop it, you protected yourself."
He wiped his eyes.
"I was scared of Richard."
"So was I."
He flinched.
I continued.
"But last night I ran from both of you."
He looked away.
"I don't know yet what you wanted."
My voice shook despite my effort to keep it steady.
"But I know what you allowed."
Harrison nodded.
He had no answer.
My phone buzzed again.
A photograph appeared.
This one was not Samuel.
It showed Richard entering a diner.
Across from him, seated in a corner booth, was a man I recognized from company Christmas parties twenty years earlier.
Daniel Crane.
The date stamp was two months old.
Beneath the image:
RICHARD HIRED HIM FIRST.
Robert leaned over my shoulder.
His face tightened.
Then another line appeared.
AND CRANE RECORDED EVERYTHING.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Daniel Crane Had Recorded Richard for Months, but the Price of Hearing Those Tapes Was Something I Refused to Give
While Everyone Watched Me Mourn My Husband, His Name Appeared on My Phone With a Warning About Our Sons
Part 6 of 25
