Chapter 2 - The Flight Jason Never Took
For several seconds, I thought I had misunderstood her.
“His plane never went to Europe?”
“Jason wasn’t on it.”
“But his family was.”
“Yes.”
Laura pulled a chair beside my hospital bed.
“Richard, Diane, and Megan boarded their scheduled flight. Jason checked luggage, passed through security, and entered the international terminal with them.”
“So how did he leave?”
“He walked out before boarding.”
I remembered the itinerary.
Charlotte to New York.
New York to Rome.
Jason had shown me every reservation.
“He planned this.”
“That’s one possibility.”
“What’s another?”
Laura didn’t answer.
She asked me about our finances.
Joint accounts.
Credit cards.
Property.
Insurance.
The questions made me uncomfortable.
Jason handled most household bills because I had been too sick to manage them.
That had never seemed dangerous.
Until now.
“Do you own the house together?”
“Yes.”
“Life insurance?”
My throat tightened.
“We both have policies.”
“How much?”
“I think mine is seven hundred fifty thousand.”
Laura wrote something down.
“Beneficiary?”
“Jason.”
She stopped writing.
I knew that pause.
“Is that important?”
“It could be.”
I looked toward the window.
“I need you to tell me what you think happened.”
“I think we need evidence before I tell you anything.”
“Detective, someone removed medicine I need to stay alive, disabled utilities, locked me inside my own house, and then lied about leaving the country.”
Her expression softened.
“You’re right.”
She closed the notebook.
“We found evidence that the electric service and water shutoff were requested through online accounts linked to Jason.”
My skin went cold.
“And the locks?”
“A locksmith confirmed two exterior locks were installed three days before the trip. Jason told him the property would be vacant during an extended vacation.”
I stared at her.
Vacant.
Not occupied by his sick wife.
Vacant.
“Why?”
“We’re working on that.”
“Where is Jason?”
“We don’t know.”
That frightened me more than I expected.
I had spent hours imagining him in Europe.
Then I imagined him with Vanessa.
Now nobody knew where he was.
Laura asked whether I could think of anywhere he might stay.
A hotel.
Friend.
Rental property.
Second home.
I said no.
Then I remembered a charge.
Six months earlier, I had noticed $2,400 transferred from our checking account.
Jason said it was for repairs at his parents’ house.
I had believed him.
I told Laura.
She wrote it down.
The hospital kept me for four days.
During that time, Jason never called.
His parents did.
Diane sounded confused.
“Rachel? Why are the police calling us?”
“Where’s Jason?”
“He said he wasn’t feeling well at the airport and would catch another flight.”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
I looked at Laura, who was sitting across the room.
“Your son locked me inside the house.”
Silence.
Then Diane laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because she didn’t believe it.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“The police broke down the back door.”
“Jason would never—”
“He took my medication.”
“No.”
“Security footage shows him carrying it.”
Diane began crying.
Richard came onto the call.
He demanded to speak to the detective.
Laura took the phone.
I listened to her explain only what she was legally permitted to disclose.
Richard stopped interrupting.
When the call ended, Laura handed my phone back.
“They’re returning.”
“From Europe?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Jason lied to them too.”
That night, I barely slept.
The next morning, Laura brought something different.
Bank records.
“We traced the apartment where Vanessa Cole was photographed.”
“Does she live there?”
“She rents it.”
“Who pays the rent?”
Laura turned the paper toward me.
A company name.
CAROLINA PROPERTY CONSULTING LLC.
I recognized it.
Jason had created the company two years earlier.
He said it was for freelance consulting.
“You’ve seen this?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have access to its accounts?”
“No.”
“We obtained records.”
She slid another page forward.
Monthly transfers.
Hotel charges.
Restaurants.
Jewelry.
Rent.
Then something else.
Payments to a private medical clinic.
I looked up.
“Is Vanessa sick?”
“We’re still determining that.”
“Why would Jason pay her medical bills?”
Laura leaned back.
“Rachel, when did your autoimmune symptoms begin?”
“Almost three months ago.”
“Exact date?”
“May ninth.”
She tapped one payment.
May 7.
Two days earlier.
“What is that?”
“A consultation.”
“For Vanessa?”
“Yes.”
“With what kind of doctor?”
Laura hesitated.
“Toxicology.”
My hands went numb.
I stared at the date.
May 7.
May 9.
My illness had begun suddenly.
Fever.
Weakness.
Joint pain.
Rashes.
Abnormal bloodwork.
Doctors believed an autoimmune disorder had been triggered.
But nobody knew why.
“Are you saying Jason made me sick?”
“I’m saying we need to understand why Vanessa saw a toxicologist two days before your symptoms began.”
I wanted to dismiss it.
There had to be another explanation.
But my mind had already gone somewhere else.
Tea.
Jason made tea for me every morning.
He had become strangely attentive when I got sick.
He measured supplements.
Prepared meals.
Refilled water.
Managed medication.
Controlled everything that entered my body.
I whispered, “Test me.”
Laura nodded.
“We already asked your doctors.”
Blood samples were collected.
Hair.
Urine.
The results would take time.
Meanwhile, police searched my house.
They found tool marks on the windows.
Receipts for locks.
Printed instructions for shutting off utilities.
And in Jason’s desk, a folder containing a copy of my life-insurance policy.
My signature appeared on a document changing part of the payout structure.
I had never signed it.
A forensic document examiner was contacted.
Laura showed me the signature.
It looked almost perfect.
Almost.
I had spent eleven years married to Jason.
Apparently he had spent enough of those years learning how to imitate my name.
His parents returned two days later.
Diane came to the hospital first.
She looked twenty years older.
“I didn’t know.”
I believed her.
Richard stood behind her, furious and ashamed.
Megan cried before she even reached my bed.
Jason had told them I insisted he go.
He had said I wanted time alone.
He had told them a home-health nurse would visit daily.
None of it was true.
Then Richard said something that changed the investigation.
“At the airport, Jason gave me an envelope.”
“What envelope?”
“He told me not to open it unless something happened to him.”
Laura became very still.
“Do you still have it?”
Richard nodded.
He reached into his coat.
The envelope was sealed.
Jason’s handwriting was across the front.
DAD — ONLY IF RACHEL DOESN’T MAKE IT.
Nobody spoke.
Laura put on gloves.
She opened it.
Inside was one sheet of paper.
She read the first line.
Then she looked at me.
“Rachel, you need to prepare yourself.”
At the bottom of the page was a second signature.
May you like
Not Jason’s.
Vanessa Cole’s.
