Chương 3 - The Syringe in His Hand
Rebecca Vale had been worth two million dollars when she died.
At least, that was what the insurance company had paid.
Caleb found the court record less than an hour later.
The beneficiary wasn't listed publicly, but the estate documents contained enough references to establish that Julian had received a substantial settlement shortly after Rebecca's death.
I felt physically ill.
“He was twenty-seven,” Caleb said.
I stared at Rebecca's photograph.
She had been twenty-six.
She looked alive in the way old photographs make dead people seem impossibly close.
I wondered whether she had trusted Julian.
Whether he had brought her pastries.
Whether he'd told her he loved her while secretly calculating what her death was worth.
“Mom?”
“I need to go home.”
Caleb stood.
“No.”
“If I disappear now, he'll know.”
“You can't go back there.”
“If Julian realizes we're investigating him, whatever plan he has accelerates.”
“So you're going to sleep beside him?”
“No.”
I looked at my son.
“I'm going to make him believe I still trust him.”
It was the most frightening decision I'd ever made.
I returned home shortly after three.
Julian wasn't there.
I went directly to the hidden room.
My father had designed much of the house himself, and he believed every home should keep a record of its own history.
Inside the safe room were architectural plans, tax documents, old photographs, contracts, and several boxes I hadn't opened since his death.
I searched for anything mentioning Julian.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something Caleb had said.
Most of the folder had been missing.
Someone had removed it.
The obvious suspect was Julian.
But why leave the photograph?
Why leave the note?
Unless Julian didn't know the folder existed.
I searched for nearly two hours.
At five seventeen, I heard the garage door.
I replaced everything and stepped into the bedroom.
Julian entered downstairs.
“Clara?”
“Up here.”
He appeared in the doorway.
No black clothing now.
No gloves.
He looked like the husband I knew.
“How was your meeting?”
“Boring.”
He loosened his tie.
“Dinner reservation at seven.”
“Where?”
“Bellamy.”
I smiled.
“My favorite.”
“I know.”
Of course he knew.
He knew everything about me.
That evening, Julian ordered my favorite wine.
I didn't drink it.
I pretended.
When he wasn't looking, I poured small amounts into the water glass and eventually excused myself to the restroom.
Paranoia?
Maybe.
But once you've seen your husband carrying a syringe into your dark bedroom, refusing a drink he ordered becomes common sense.
During dessert, Julian leaned forward.
“I've been thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
He smiled.
“Let's get away.”
“Where?”
“Lake Geneva.”
My spoon stopped.
Rebecca's photograph flashed through my mind.
“What made you think of Lake Geneva?”
He shrugged.
“Haven't been there in years.”
That was technically true.
“Could be romantic.”
I studied his face.
“Have you been there with someone else?”
For the first time all evening, Julian's expression changed.
Barely.
But I saw it.
A fractional tightening around his eyes.
“Probably. Years ago.”
“Girlfriend?”
He smiled.
“Are you interrogating me?”
I laughed.
“Maybe.”
He reached for my hand.
“I had a life before you, Clara.”
Rebecca Vale had died during that life.
“Of course.”
His thumb traced my wedding ring.
“But none of it mattered after I met you.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I smiled.
On the drive home, Julian received a call.
He glanced at the screen and rejected it.
“Work?”
“Yeah.”
The phone rang again.
He rejected it again.
A third time.
This time I saw the caller name reflected faintly against the window.
Dr. Mercer.
The name meant nothing to me.
Yet.
When we reached home, Julian went downstairs to take the call privately.
I entered the bedroom.
His overnight bag was near the dresser.
I opened it.
Inside was a toiletry kit.
Shirt.
Socks.
A laptop charger.
Nothing.
Then I felt the lining.
Something rigid beneath it.
I found a hidden zipper.
Inside was a small plastic case.
Empty.
But its molded interior had the unmistakable shape of a syringe.
My hands began shaking.
The syringe from last night had been stored there.
I heard footsteps.
I closed everything.
Julian entered.
“What are you doing?”
I turned.
For one second, neither of us moved.
Then I held up one of his shirts.
“Laundry.”
His gaze shifted from me to the bag.
Then back.
“Leave it. I'll do it.”
“Since when?”
“Since my wife deserves a break.”
He took the shirt gently.
His smile was perfect.
But his eyes weren't smiling.
That night, I waited until his breathing became slow.
Then I slipped from bed.
I entered his study.
His laptop required facial recognition.
But Julian had one weakness.
He believed I was terrible with technology.
I plugged in a drive Caleb had given me.
It contained a program designed only to copy recently accessed file names and browser metadata, not passwords.
Thirty seconds.
That's all I needed.
Twenty-eight seconds passed.
Footsteps sounded upstairs.
I removed the drive.
The study door opened.
Julian stood there.
“What are you doing?”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Couldn't sleep.”
“At my computer?”
I pointed toward the desk.
“My charger. Thought I left it here.”
Julian didn't move.
Then he walked toward me.
Slowly.
He stopped inches away.
“Clara.”
“Yes?”
“Is there something you want to ask me?”
The room felt suddenly smaller.
I looked directly into his eyes.
“Actually, yes.”
His expression hardened.
I smiled.
“Who is Dr. Mercer?”
For the first time since the nightmare began, Julian looked genuinely surprised.
May you like
And in that single unguarded second, I knew I'd found someone important.
What I didn't know was that Dr. Mercer had signed Rebecca Vale's death certificate seventeen years earlier.
