by Freya Atwood
“He’s going to find Cathy,” I say, rather than addressing his question.
“You need to warn her,” Jasmine says and turns me around back toward my office.
My phone sits in my bag still and I scoop it out, hitting the second speed dial on my phone.
“Hey, this is Cathy, leave a message and I’ll get back to you,” her voicemail message says, followed by the long tone to begin recording.
“Cath, it’s Megan. If a man approaches you asking for money, do not listen. Do not engage. Call me back when you get this.”
I try to recall my sister’s schedule for the day. Lucas has a day off school for some reason. A teacher training day perhaps? I recall Cathy talking about spending the day out and about for some needed mother-son bonding. But I don’t remember where they were planning to go or if they would have even left the house yet.
Standing there wondering is wasting too much time as I rush back out in the reception area of the office.
“I’m going to see if I can find her. I need to tell Jim and Aiden what’s going on,” I announce before running out the door, leaving my colleagues to wonder what the hell was really going on.
The tires squeal as I peel off the street and up the driveway to our house. The sight of it riles up memories I’ve been successful in keeping locked away for months now. I can see my teenage self walking up to the house, front door ajar, unaware of what was about to happen. Cathy’s car is missing from its usual spot in front of the garage which probably means she and Lucas have already left for their outing. Still, I leave the engine running, entering the house to double check.
Maybe it’s the fact my father literally stumbled back into my life less than ten minute ago, but I can’t make the image of my mother lying on the floor go away. No matter how fast I blink or how long I close my eyes, it’s still there.
“Cath, you here?” I call when I finally manage to banish the grotesque afterimage.
No response.
I check the spot on the kitchen counter where she leaves her keys and find them missing. She’s definitely out and about. Maybe that means Dad won’t be able to find her. He got lucky coming to the office. There was a high probability I would be there at this time of day.
Retreating to the car, I slam the seatbelt into the buckle and put the car in reverse. I connect my Bluetooth headset and dial Uncle Jim’s cell phone.
“Megan? Everything okay?” He sounds surprised by my call.
I take a moment to respond as I pick up the sounds of voices in the background. “Are you at work?”
“Helping out with some training of some new officers so we’re on the beat. Why?”
“I need your help.” I’m impressed by the fact I can keep the panic and disdain from my voice as I speak. “I need to report a sighting of a missing person of interest.”
The line crackles and I can picture him putting his hand over the phone. It doesn’t stifle his words like it might have on an older phone, but I pretend not to listen as he tells whoever he’s with the give him some space for a private call.
“I’m listening,” he says. “Who are you looking to report?”
The sigh that infuses his words tells me he already suspects the answer. Did he go see Uncle Jim first? “My father.”
My mouth goes dry as I wait for his response. I fear he won’t believe me, that he’ll assume I was seeing things or imagining a reunion that would never happen.
“Where is he?”
My voice catches in my throat at his response. There is no hint of doubt like I’d imagined. “He was at my office. He left to find Cathy.”
“Where are you now?’
“I’m at the house. I’m going to go to the park, maybe see if she and Lucas are there.” I can’t bring myself to say the words “I’m worried he’ll hurt them.” Part of me insists it’s an irrational fear. He insists he is innocent of my mother’s murder and I had never personally witnessed him take any sort of threatening action against anyone. But I couldn’t shake that his presence was putting my family in the crosshairs of whoever had killed her.
“I will find her. I want you to go to the station, make a formal report. Go to Aiden. He’ll make sure you get a fair shake.”
The line goes dead and my hands tremble against the steering wheel. This is not at all how I envisioned my day going. I send up a silent prayer that Uncle Jim gets to Cathy to find her unvisited by this specter from our past.
Chapter 3
My bag with the photograph in it feels as if it weighs a ton when I walk into the police station. The desk sergeant glances up at me as I bypass him and head straight for Aiden’s desk at the back of the bullpen. He looks up as I approach and his forehead wrinkles with concern.
“I need to talk to you privately.”
“Of course.” He leads me down the hall to the first interview room, easing the door shut behind him.
I sit before he can offer me a chair and balance my bag on the edge of the table. Despite wanting, no needing, to share this secret with him, I can’t make myself speak.
“Megan, what’s going on? You were fine when you left the diner and now you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Talk to me, please.”
He reaches for my hand, but I pull away. Knowing what I’m about to tell him, I can’t stomach the idea of him showing me any sort of affection. Not when I’ve been keeping this from him for a year.
“I saw my father,” I finally whisper.
“What do you mean?’
“I mean, that text I got from Jasmine, it was him. He showed up at the office and he was just sitting there like it was normal.”
“You’re sure it was him? It’s been over a decade since you saw him.”
“It was him. He looked … older and yet the same. He was asking me for money, and he’s gone looking for Cathy.” I bury my head in my hands, pressing my forehead against the metal clasp of my bag.
“Do you know where your sister is?’
“Uncle Jim is looking for her.” I reach into the front flap of my bag and grip the photograph. “There’s more.”
I pass the photograph across the table to him. Aiden doesn’t touch it, but I can see him visibly shift away from the image. Maybe I’ve become somewhat immune to the graphic nature of it after all these years along with the fact I carry it burned into my memory.
“He gave you this?” He produces a pair of gloves from his pocket and delicately turns the photo over, reading the message on the back.
“No.”
Anxiety crashes over me like a punishing wave, making me sweat despite there being no heat and my vision pops with little black dots. The furious rush of blood to my ears disrupts my hearing momentarily. I can still see Aiden’s mouth moving but his words don’t compute in my brain.
“Megan.” His voice is sharp, authoritative.
“No, it wasn’t from him,” I finally say, my throat sore.
“Where’d it come from?”
“I found it in my glove box the day I picked up my car from police impound,” I admit.
“I’m sorry, what?”
I hang my head in shame. “I know.”
“You’ve had this for a year and you’re just showing it to me now? I thought we had more trust than that.”
My head whips up and I look at him. His usually soft features harden with disapproval and hurt. “It’s not that. Of course I trust you. I just thought, maybe if I didn’t share it with anyone, it would sort of go away and I wouldn’t have to think about it.”
“You were hiding evidence, Megan. You know how bad that looks.”
“I know. I really am sorry.” The irony isn’t lost on me. A year ago, I spent so much time chasing down my sister’s secrets to try and defend her from bogus arson charges, we’d promised one another we wouldn’t keep secrets anymore. Yet here I was doing just that not only to her, but to my friends. To people who could actually help put my mother’s case to rest for good. That’s what I had wanted all along, wasn’t it?
&
nbsp; “You said you found it in the glove box?” Aiden redirects the conversation.
“Yes. I was checking over the car and when I got in, I saw the glove box was partially open and I found it in there. I have to believe whoever is responsible for my mother’s murder put it there.”
“You haven’t showed it to anyone else? No one but you has touched it?”
I nod. “Just me. It’s been in my bag ever since.”
Aiden sighs and stands up. “Wait here.”
He leaves and I fail to repress a shiver that dances down my spine as the wheels start to spin. I’d been kidding myself for a year that I could just forget about getting justice for my mother. I don’t believe in coincidences. My father coming back now has to mean something.
Aiden returns with a clear evidence bag in one hand. He slides the photograph into it and sits back down across from me. “We may get lucky and be able to pull some fingerprints off of this.”
“My father insists he didn’t kill my mom. The message on the photo would seem to support that theory. Why would he write about himself in the third person?”
“I’ll be happy to ask him when we find him. Is there anything else you can tell me about your interaction with your father?’
I set my bag on the floor by my feet and clasp my hands together in front of me on the table. “It caught me off guard. He said he just needed money and he’d leave me alone and disappear again. I tried to call you, but he stopped me.”
“What else did he say about the murder? Anything?”
“Only that he insists he didn’t do it and that him leaving us was to protect us because we were all in danger.”
He abandons his seat and rounds the table, pulling me into an impromptu hug. He’s no longer Aiden the cop. He’s Aiden my sort-of boyfriend. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone.”
“I couldn’t decide if I wanted to throw myself into his arms because he’s my dad and I miss him, or if I wanted to beat him because of what he did to us.”
“We’re going to get through this, Megan. I don’t know what the outcome is going to be, but we will find the truth. Together.”
My phone buzzes with an incoming call. Aiden releases his hold on me, and I see Uncle Jim’s name flashing across the screen. Aiden picks up the photo now safely secured in the evidence bag and gives me a cute little bow before leaving me to my call in private.
“I found her. Meet me at my house when you’re done at the station,” Uncle Jim says curtly. He doesn’t give me time to reply before ending the call.
He’s not usually so short, even when he’s angry. I try not to let my mind concoct worst-case scenarios as I leave the interview room and retreat to my car.
Approaching the driveway of Uncle Jim’s house brings back even more memories I didn’t expect to have to tackle today. I’m eighteen again, sitting in the front seat of the car as Uncle Jim spirits me away from the scene of my mother’s murder. Cathy is MIA and I’m numb from the experience. I didn’t know then just how much this seismic shift would shape me.
I pull in behind Cathy’s car and breathe a small sigh of relief. At least she was able to arrive under her own power. I slam the driver side door closed and race to the front door. I can hear laughter coming from within the house. Lucas’s high-pitched giggles draw me to the living room where he sits on the floor watching something on Cathy’s phone.
I make eye contact with my sister. The paleness of her cheeks and haunted expression that lingers tells me all I need to know.
“Lucas, sweetie, can you watch that upstairs. The grown-ups need to have a talk,” I say.
My nephew rolls over onto his back, phone still clutched in his hands. “I don’t want to.”
“Lucas, honey, you need to go upstairs,” Cathy says more forcefully than me.
As he gives an exaggerated sigh and scrambles to his feet, I reflect on how far Cathy’s come in the last year. She’s been clean and sober for that long and has blossomed as a mom. Lucas has settled into life with us, although I know Cathy worries about him. Sometimes he seems younger than he actually is, and he’s been struggling with school. But she’s been there every step of the way.
Once Lucas’s footsteps recede on the stairs I whirl to face Cathy. “He found you?”
Cathy rushes over and throws her arms around me. Her tears soak the collar of my blouse. Neither of us speak as she sobs into my shoulder. She’s been much more open with her emotions in the last year, something I wish I could do more freely myself. But no matter how hard I try, I seem to always default to keeping them closed off.
I finally guide her to sit beside me on the love seat. She keeps her hands wrapped around me, like she’s afraid to break contact with me. “We were at the park and he was just there. He stood off watching us for a while. I went to tell him to get lost because he was creepy and then he said my name. God, Megs, it’s him. It’s Dad.”
“I know. I don’t know how he found it, but he came to my office. He wanted money.”
“He didn’t say much before Uncle Jim showed up and he just took off, but he said he was innocent, and you were going to prove it.”
“If the evidence points to someone else, then I’ll pursue it as far as I can. But I can’t promise I won’t help the prosecution put him behind bars if he’s the one responsible for tearing this family apart.”
“How did he know where to find you, Megan?” Uncle Jim’s voice is calmer now, softer as he stands in the doorway to the living room. He’s lost some more weight in the last year, but he’s been cancer free by some miracle for the last three months.
“He apparently has been keeping tabs on me. Maybe on all of us. He said that he had to leave because we were all in danger and it was the only way to protect us.” I take a breath, trying to gather myself. I know I need to share the news about the photograph with them, but the thought terrifies me. I fear it will set Cathy and I back months of work on regaining each other’s trust. “As much as I’m angry at him for leaving, and for showing up now out of the blue. I can’t say definitively I think he did it.”
“Why not?” Cathy retorts.
“Because I found something in my car that points to someone else being responsible.”
“What did you find?” Uncle Jim’s posture shifts and if I didn’t know better, I’d suspect he was interrogating me. The fact he’s still wearing his holster adds to the image and my discomfort.
“A photograph of Mom in the kitchen. Whoever killed her took it before they fled the scene. It had a note on the back about Dad not paying his debt and maybe I’d have to pay it.”
“When did this happen?” Cathy jumps on the interrogation band wagon.
I force myself to keep my hands where they are. “Last year, when I got my car back from the police.”
“But you gave it to the police back then, right?” Uncle Jim’s gaze narrows.
“No.” My voice is small. I can’t keep contact with Cathy anymore. I pull away, shrinking into the other side of the love seat beneath Uncle Jim’s gaze.
“What the hell, Megan?” Cathy shouts, slapping at my arms.
“I’m sorry. It freaked me out and given everything that happened with the arson case and Aisha and her brother I was scared to say anything. But the police have it now. They’re looking to see if they can get fingerprints from the photograph.”
“And what happens if they’re Dad’s?” Cathy demands.
“Then they arrest him for murder,” I reply. I push myself out of the corner of the love seat and turn to face Cathy. She’s taking it better than I thought she would be. “I hope you know I was only trying to protect you from having to relive everything again. Especially with how great you’ve been doing the last year.”
Cathy rolls her eyes. “Megan I’m a big girl. I’m a grown-ass woman in fact. I know you’ve always felt it was your solemn duty to protect me from all the nasty things in the world but let’s face it, you kinda failed with the whole me turning to drugs and alcohol thing.”
I open my mouth to protest but she cuts me off. “I’m not saying you’re to blame for my bad decisions, because that’s all on me. My point is you don’t need to carry all of this trauma about Mom by yourself. So, next time you think you’re keeping me safe by not telling me something, just remember that keeping secrets in this family never ends well.”
“I promise, I won’t keep any more secrets.”
The doorbell resounds through the first floor and both Cathy and I are on our feet in seconds, racing each other to the front door. Uncle Jim lumbers behind us. I’m first to the door and wrench it open to find Dad standing on the threshold.
Want to know how the story ends? Tap on the link below to read the rest of the story.
https://amzn.to/3mvnMTF
Thank you very much!
Also by Freya Atwood
Thank you for reading The Crimson Trial!
I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, may I ask you to please write a review HERE? It would mean the world to me. Your feedback helps me become a better writer to give you the stories you deserve!
Some other stories of mine:
Vengeful Justice (Megan Corver Legal Thriller)
Blood Verdict (Sarah Cross Legal Thriller)
Ruthless Justice (Megan Corver Legal Thriller)
Blood Testimony (Sarah Cross Legal Thriller)
Reaper of Justice (Megan Corver Legal Thriller)
Blood Trial (Sarah Cross Legal Thriller)
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