Chapter 17 - THE PERSON BEHIND THE MESSAGES
The photograph of Brenda had been taken less than ten minutes earlier.
We knew because a television in the background showed a live market ticker with a timestamp.
We did not know where she was.
The room could have been a hotel suite.
A private office.
A conference room.
There was a dark wood table, one cream wall, and the edge of a brass lamp.
Nothing identifiable.
Except the envelope.
AFFIDAVIT OF ELEANOR CARTER.
The document my father’s inventory said belonged in Box 417.
The document Samuel appeared to have removed three days after my father died.
Now Brenda had it.
Ruiz sent the image to the digital team.
“No metadata.”
“Of course,” I said.
My phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
You keep asking who I am.
Tonight you get the answer.
A second message followed.
Parking structure at Monroe and Sixth.
Level five.
9:00 p.m.
Bring Ruiz.
Leah read it over my shoulder.
“Well, at least our anonymous criminal has improved his invitation etiquette.”
Ruiz did not smile.
“He knows my name.”
“He has known you were involved since the restaurant.”
“He knows you are with me now.”
My skin prickled.
We all looked toward the bank viewing-room door.
Security had cleared the corridor.
No one visible should have known exactly who was standing beside me.
Unless the sender had access to investigative movements.
Or someone nearby was watching.
Ruiz immediately moved us out through a staff corridor.
The rest of the afternoon became controlled chaos.
Calvin remained detained at the private airfield on the authority of a warrant prosecutors had finally obtained after the trust hearing.
His luggage contained two encrypted laptops, seventy-eight thousand dollars in cash, three passports, and printed account instructions for banks in the Cayman Islands.
He claimed he was traveling for a client meeting.
No one believed him.
Brenda remained missing.
Grant Mercer remained missing.
Samuel remained under medical supervision and legal guard.
Melissa Grant had still not agreed to an interview.
Connor remained at St. Catherine’s.
And I remained the woman whose signature appeared on documents designed to make every criminal in the room richer.
At 7:30 p.m., Ruiz gave me a ballistic vest.
I stared at it.
“You cannot be serious.”
“You wanted to come.”
“I thought I would sit in a car.”
“You will.”
“Then why the vest?”
“Because cars have windows.”
Leah folded her arms.
“She should not go.”
“I agree,” Ruiz said.
I looked at both of them.
“I am standing right here.”
“We noticed,” Leah said.
“The sender specifically told me to bring Ruiz.”
“That does not mean you follow the rest of the instructions.”
“Every time we follow one, we find something.”
“Every time you follow one, the sender also moves you where he wants you.”
Leah was right.
That was what frightened me.
Whoever had been texting me had helped expose the camera.
The courthouse filing.
Box 417.
But the same person had sent threatening photographs of my father’s grave and my house.
The same person told me to come alone if I wanted Connor alive.
Help and intimidation had been mixed so thoroughly I could no longer tell which was the real purpose.
At 8:52, I sat in an unmarked SUV on level four of the Monroe parking structure.
Ruiz sat in the front passenger seat.
Two tactical teams waited out of sight.
Cameras covered the ramps.
My phone rested in an evidence cradle between us.
At 8:59, it buzzed.
Walk up one level.
Ruiz typed a reply for the first time.
No.
The response came immediately.
Then you will never see the affidavit.
Ruiz answered.
Bring it to us.
The sender replied with a photograph.
Level five.
A man stood beside a concrete pillar.
Baseball cap.
Dark jacket.
His face turned partly away.
I recognized him from a photograph Ruiz had shown me that afternoon.
Grant Mercer.
Brenda’s cousin.
The private investigator who had planted my fingerprint on Samuel’s gun.
The man who had driven Connor away from the Lake Geneva house.
My stomach tightened.
“It’s Grant.”
Ruiz was already speaking into his radio.
“No movement until I say.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Ruiz answered on speaker.
Grant’s voice was calm.
“Jessica.”
I had never heard him speak directly to me before.
“You planted my fingerprint.”
“Yes.”
No denial.
No apology.
I almost admired the efficiency.
“You photographed my house.”
“Yes.”
“My father’s grave.”
“Yes.”
“You sent every message.”
“Most of them.”
Ruiz looked at me.
“Most?”
Grant laughed softly.
“We’ll get there.”
“Where is Brenda?” Ruiz asked.
“Safe for the next twenty minutes.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning she thinks I am retrieving something she needs.”
“The affidavit?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have it?”
“No.”
My heart sank.
“Then who does?”
“Brenda.”
“The photograph?”
“I took it.”
“When?”
“Forty minutes ago.”
“Where?”
Grant ignored Ruiz.
“Jessica, do you want to know why I helped her?”
“No.”
The answer surprised him.
Silence followed.
“I want evidence,” I said.
“I don’t care about your childhood.”
Ruiz glanced back at me.
Leah would have approved.
Grant gave a small laugh.
“You are Arthur’s daughter.”
“Do not use my father to compliment me.”
“I’m not.”
“Then tell us where Brenda is.”
“I want immunity.”
Ruiz answered immediately.
“I cannot promise immunity.”
“I know you cannot.”
“Then why are we here?”
“Because I can give you enough to make a prosecutor interested.”
Ruiz’s voice hardened.
“You framed an innocent woman with a firearm.”
“Yes.”
“You participated in coercive surveillance.”
“Yes.”
“You helped restrain Connor Carter.”
“Yes.”
“You may have participated in an attempted homicide.”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
Ruiz leaned forward.
“You put him in the car.”
“I was told to drive him to a motel and leave him there with cash.”
“Connor says he heard Calvin tell you to make it look like panic.”
Grant went quiet.
“That happened after I put him in the car.”
“So you heard it too.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I changed the plan.”
My brow furrowed.
“The gas station,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You let him escape.”
“I stopped where I knew there were cameras and truck traffic.”
“Why?”
“Because fraud is one thing.”
“Murder is another.”
Ruiz’s expression did not soften.
“You want a medal?”
“I want a prosecutor to know I drew a line.”
“You drew it after planting evidence on Jessica.”
“Yes.”
Grant did not pretend to be good.
That made him easier to listen to than Connor.
“Why the messages?” I asked.
“Insurance.”
“For yourself?”
“Yes.”
“How does helping me insure you?”
“If Brenda or Calvin decided I knew too much, I wanted someone outside their control to have enough information to keep digging.”
“You could have gone to police.”
“I did not trust police.”
“Convenient.”
“I also did not trust you.”
“Then why me?”
“Because Arthur trusted evidence.”
“Again, stop using my father.”
Grant exhaled.
“Fine.”
“Because you were angry enough to keep going.”
That answer I believed.
“Which messages were not yours?” Ruiz asked.
“The ones after Connor reached the hospital.”
My pulse changed.
The message telling us Box 417 was already open had arrived after Connor was found.
Grant said he had not sent it.
“The photograph of Brenda?”
“Mine.”
“Then which specific messages were not yours?”
Grant listed them.
Box 417 is already open.
And the earlier courthouse message telling me to check at noon.
I frowned.
“You did not tell me about the courthouse?”
“No.”
“Who knew about the filing?”
“Brenda.”
“Calvin.”
“Connor.”
“Melissa Grant, because she notarized the transfer.”
“Possibly clerks.”
My mind went to the medical assistant.
Melissa.
The woman whose credentials altered my chart.
The woman who notarized Connor’s trust transfer.
The woman who had refused to speak.
“Is Melissa working with Brenda?”
Grant laughed.
“Melissa works for whoever she thinks will keep her out of prison.”
“Did she alter my medical record?”
“Yes.”
“On Brenda’s order?”
“Calvin’s.”
That was new.
“Why?”
“Because Brenda wanted a story.”
“Calvin wanted documentation.”
My skin crawled.
“Where is Melissa now?”
“I don’t know.”
Ruiz leaned forward.
“Where is Brenda?”
Grant finally answered.
“Room 1804 at the Calder Hotel.”
Ruiz immediately spoke into his radio.
Grant cut in.
“Do not rush the room.”
“Why?”
“Because she is expecting me.”
“So?”
“She has the affidavit in a document pouch attached to her body.”
“Attached how?”
“Travel belt under her jacket.”
“Any weapon?”
“I have never seen Brenda carry a gun.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I don’t know.”
Ruiz gave orders quietly.
Teams moved toward the Calder.
Grant continued.
“You want the affidavit intact.”
“Yes.”
“Then you need to know what it says.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“You read it?”
“No.”
“But Samuel did.”
I went still.
“When?”
“Three days after Arthur died.”
“He opened Box 417.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Brenda sent him.”
The betrayal was almost too obvious now.
Samuel had told investigators he was frightened of Brenda.
He had not mentioned robbing my father’s safe-deposit box after his death.
“What did Samuel tell Brenda was in it?”
“That Eleanor had signed a sworn statement before she died.”
“About the trust?”
“About everything.”
“What does everything mean?”
“Northstar.”
“Calvin.”
“The money.”
“And a meeting with Connor.”
I froze.
“What meeting with Connor?”
Grant’s voice lowered.
“Eleanor met Connor privately two days before she died.”
Connor had told me his mother said Eleanor changed her mind before the end.
Maybe Connor knew more than he admitted.
“What did Eleanor tell him?”
“I do not know.”
“Samuel does.”
“Then why didn’t he tell Ruiz?”
“Because Samuel wants immunity too.”
Everyone wanted immunity.
No one had offered me immunity from the life they destroyed.
Ruiz checked his phone.
The Calder team was in position.
“Grant, walk down to level four with your hands visible.”
“I’m not surrendering without a deal.”
“You are already surrounded.”
A pause.
Then Grant laughed.
“I assumed.”
We heard footsteps through the phone.
Seconds later, officers brought him down the ramp.
He was taller than I expected.
Forty-five maybe.
Clean-shaven.
Ordinary.
That bothered me.
He looked like someone who could inspect a roof or sell insurance.
Not a man who photographed graves and planted fingerprints.
He stopped fifteen feet from our vehicle with his hands raised.
Ruiz stepped out.
Grant looked past him at me through the windshield.
Then he said something I could not hear through the glass.
Ruiz turned toward me.
“What?” I asked through the open door.
Grant repeated it.
“Your father knew Brenda was going to use Connor.”
“I read his notebook.”
“No.”
Grant shook his head.
“He knew more than that.”
“What?”
“Arthur met Connor before he died.”
The words struck me harder than they should have.
“When?”
“The night before Arthur died.”
“That is impossible.”
“He was at St. Catherine’s that morning.”
“I know.”
“He met Brenda and Samuel.”
“I know.”
“Then that night Connor went to Arthur’s house.”
My mouth went dry.
“Proof?” Ruiz asked.
Grant nodded.
“Arthur recorded it.”
“Where?”
“On the drive in Box 417.”
The sealed digital drive.
Ruiz’s phone rang.
He answered.
The Calder team had entered Room 1804.
Brenda was gone.
The room was empty.
On the table sat a cut-open travel belt.
No affidavit.
No Brenda.
But there was a note.
May you like
Three words.
ASK CONNOR FIRST.
