Chapter 8 - SOMEONE WANTED HIM TO FORGET
Celeste’s accusation forced the police to reopen Richard Vale’s death investigation.
His heart attack had happened at home.
No autopsy had been ordered.
He was seventy-two.
Wealthy.
Overworked.
History of hypertension.
Nobody had questioned it.
Until now.
Adrian wanted his father’s body exhumed.
Daniel warned him what the press would do.
Adrian answered, “Let them.”
By afternoon, Vale Meridian stock had fallen nine percent because rumors leaked that Adrian was alive but medically compromised.
Cable networks showed old footage of him.
Cold.
Controlled.
Elegant.
The man on television looked nothing like the man eating takeout noodles beside me in a borrowed sweatshirt.
“You really used to look miserable,” I said.
“Thank you.”
“I mean it.”
“Very encouraging.”
“You always looked like someone had just explained taxes to you.”
He laughed.
Then winced from his ribs.
I handed him medication.
He looked at the pill.
“You realize you’re off duty.”
“I realize you’ll forget it otherwise.”
“I don’t forget everything.”
“Your name?”
“Unfair.”
For several minutes, life almost felt normal.
Then Marcus entered.
“We found something in the vehicle.”
Adrian set down his fork.
“What?”
“The crash investigators removed the driver-side airbag assembly.”
“And?”
“There was residue.”
“What kind?”
“A sedative.”
My stomach tightened.
Marcus continued.
“It appears someone placed a transdermal compound on the steering wheel.”
Daniel stared.
“Meaning?”
“Adrian may have been drugged before the crash.”
Adrian looked at his hands.
“That explains why I lost control.”
“Possibly.”
“And the amnesia?”
“The head injury remains the primary explanation.”
“Could the drug have contributed?”
“Doctors think so.”
Someone had sabotaged his brakes.
Drugged him.
Then taken his phone and identification.
That was not intimidation.
That was an attempted erasure.
The next breakthrough came from Toby.
He had brought his laptop to the safe house and spent most of the day pretending he was not fascinated by the entire situation.
Near midnight, he walked into the living room.
“I think I found Eleanor Price.”
Everyone turned.
Marcus frowned.
“How?”
“Internet.”
Marcus looked insulted.
Toby continued.
“Not normal search results. Her legal records disappear around nine years ago, but there’s a nonprofit director named Eleanor Pierce in Vermont.”
“That proves nothing,” Daniel said.
“The birth date matches.”
Silence.
Toby rotated the screen.
A small rural education foundation.
Board member:
Eleanor Anne Pierce.
Photograph attached.
Older woman.
Silver hair.
Same eyes as the woman in the red coat.
Adrian stared.
“You found her.”
Toby smiled.
“Maybe.”
Marcus immediately began verification.
Twenty minutes later, he confirmed it.
Eleanor Price had changed her last name.
She had been living quietly in Vermont for nearly a decade.
Adrian called her.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Finally he left a voicemail.
“My name is Adrian Vale.”
He paused.
“If you are Eleanor Price, I think I was coming to see you the night someone tried to kill me.”
Another pause.
“My father left me a message saying you deserved the truth.”
His voice changed.
“And I think I owe you more than an apology.”
He ended the call.
At 3:12 a.m., the phone rang.
Adrian answered immediately.
No one spoke at first.
Then a woman’s voice.
“Richard is dead?”
Adrian sat upright.
“Yes.”
“I heard rumors.”
“You knew him?”
“I knew what he became.”
“I found his recording.”
Silence.
Then Eleanor whispered, “He actually made one.”
“You knew?”
“He called me six days before he died.”
Adrian looked toward Daniel.
“What did he say?”
“That he was finally going to tell you everything.”
“What happened after that?”
“He died.”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“I was coming to meet you.”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“You called me.”
Memory flashed across his expression.
“What did I say?”
Eleanor’s voice trembled.
“You told me you had proof.”
“Of what?”
“Who killed your father.”
Every person in the room froze.
Adrian gripped the phone.
“Who?”
“You wouldn’t say over the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because you believed your phone was being monitored.”
His face went pale.
“Eleanor.”
“Yes?”
“Did we choose Route 18?”
“No.”
Adrian looked at Marcus.
“Who knew I was taking Route 18?”
Eleanor answered before anyone else could.
“One person.”
“Who?”
May you like
There was a pause.
“Your fiancée.”
