Chapter 9 - THE NIGHT THE CAMERA WENT DARK
Mercer questioned Daniel with his attorney present.
I was not permitted inside the room.
For six hours I sat across from a vending machine and stared at a cup of coffee I never drank.
When the attorney finally emerged, he would confirm only that Daniel had provided information and documents.
Nora later told me investigators had secured an additional search warrant.
At the garage, technicians examined the side entrance and electrical panel.
The camera above the service bay had stopped recording for nineteen minutes on the night Dad collapsed.
Its power cable had not failed.
Someone had switched off the breaker.
But a different camera, mounted at a neighboring tire shop, showed three figures approaching the rear alley.
One wore Ethan's distinctive long coat.
Another carried a medical-style bag.
The third appeared to be Daniel, who left the alley before the other two.
I watched the footage once and asked Mercer to stop.
"Did they kill him?" I asked.
"We don't know," he said.
"His medical records need independent review."
My father had collapsed at home the following afternoon, not at the garage.
The timing could support many explanations.
I clung to that uncertainty because the alternative was intolerable.
An investigator then found a cleaning-service receipt from the day after the alley footage.
It listed a special request to remove a stain from Dad's office carpet.
The service had been booked by Ethan.
When confronted with the invoice through his lawyer, Ethan said he was helping his elderly father-in-law.
He also claimed Dad had requested privacy about a serious illness.
I knew my father had arthritis and heart trouble.
I did not know of any other illness.
That night, I dreamed of the oil-scented office and Dad's phone resting between us.
When I awoke, Martin had left a voicemail.
"The toxicology consultant has asked for a meeting," he said.
May you like
"There is a discrepancy we need to discuss in person."
