Chapter 4 - The Woman David Couldn't Silence
“Don't call Dominic,” the woman said.
Her voice shook.
I stared at the ring.
My father had worn it for thirty-seven years.
Even after Mom died.
He said marriage didn't stop being real just because one person was gone.
“How did you get that?”
“Arthur gave it to me.”
“You're Evelyn.”
“Yes.”
People moved around us on the sidewalk.
Ordinary people.
Coffee.
Briefcases.
Dogs.
I had never been more grateful for witnesses.
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn't.”
The answer surprised me.
Evelyn held out the ring.
“Trust Arthur.”
I took it.
Inside were my parents' initials.
A.P. + M.P.
Real.
My knees almost weakened.
“When did he give this to you?”
“December sixteenth.”
The same day he met Richard.
“He thought he might die?”
“He thought someone was following him.”
“David?”
“He didn't know.”
“Did you give Dominic the flash drive?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn't reach you.”
“You had three years.”
Her face tightened.
“I tried.”
“No, you didn't.”
“Claire, I sent letters.”
I remembered none.
“I called.”
David controlled our home line.
“I came to your building twice.”
My stomach twisted.
“The doorman said you'd been told not to admit me.”
David.
Again.
“Why Dominic?”
“Because Arthur trusted the Rossi family to preserve evidence if the legal channels became compromised.”
“That's a strange choice for a judge.”
“Your father understood that respectable people aren't always honest and disreputable people aren't always dishonest.”
That sounded exactly like him.
“What's the third copy?”
Evelyn's eyes narrowed.
“Richard told you?”
“Yes.”
“Then he finally found some courage.”
“Where is it?”
“I don't know.”
“But you know who Dad trusted.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Evelyn looked behind me.
“Not here.”
We entered a coffee shop.
She chose a table near the front windows.
“The man Arthur trusted was Thomas Bell.”
I knew that name.
Dad's former clerk.
Later an assistant U.S. attorney.
“He moved to Washington.”
“After Arthur died.”
“Why?”
“Because someone tried to kill him.”
I stared.
“What?”
“His apartment caught fire two weeks after the crash.”
“I never heard that.”
“It was called electrical.”
“Was it?”
“No.”
She opened her handbag and removed an old envelope.
Inside was a photocopy of a repair invoice.
SKOKIE PRECISION AUTO.
Brake inspection.
Arthur Pendleton.
The invoice was dated three days before Dad died.
“No problems found,” I read.
Evelyn nodded.
“Your father's brakes were inspected because he thought someone had tampered with them.”
“But the police said the brake line failed.”
“Yes.”
“So somebody touched the car after this inspection.”
“That's what Arthur believed might happen.”
My hands trembled.
“Why didn't you go to police?”
“I did.”
“What happened?”
“The detective assigned to Arthur's crash retired six weeks later.”
“That doesn't answer me.”
“He told me privately that evidence had disappeared.”
“Who?”
“Detective Samuel Reed.”
“Where is he?”
“Wisconsin.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
That question shouldn't have needed asking.
My prepaid phone buzzed.
Dominic.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“Evelyn is with you.”
I looked at her.
“How do you know?”
“Because she just called one of my men.”
Evelyn gave me an apologetic look.
“You told me not to call him.”
“I told you not to.”
Dominic exhaled.
“Claire, I need you both to come somewhere secure.”
“Why?”
“We opened another file from the drive.”
“What file?”
“A recording.”
“Of David?”
“Yes.”
“What does he say?”
Dominic went silent.
“Dominic.”
“He's talking to someone about your father.”
My stomach clenched.
“Who?”
“We can't identify the other voice.”
Evelyn leaned toward the phone.
“I can.”
An hour later, we sat in a private conference room at an attorney's office downtown.
Dominic had brought in an independent lawyer named Rachel Kim.
That impressed me.
He didn't tell me to trust him.
He gave me someone whose job was to protect me instead.
Rachel documented the drive, copied it, and explained that any evidence needed proper handling if it was going to court.
Then Dominic played the recording.
David's voice.
“I need the problem handled before Monday.”
Another man answered.
“Arthur?”
My father's name.
David again.
“He's going federal.”
The other voice said something indistinct.
Then:
“You understand what you're asking?”
David replied:
“I'm asking you to protect everyone.”
The recording ended.
I felt sick.
Evelyn looked pale.
“You recognize him?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
She looked at Dominic.
Then me.
“Martin Wexler.”
The consultant.
The man Richard had introduced to David.
Rachel leaned forward.
“Recognizing a voice isn't enough. We need corroboration.”
“I have it,” Evelyn said.
She opened her bag again.
This time she removed a key.
Small.
Brass.
A number stamped into it.
“What's that?”
“Arthur gave me this with his ring.”
“For what?”
“He said if anything happened, I should wait until Claire was ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“To learn who David really was.”
The key belonged to a safe-deposit box.
Not under Dad's name.
Under Mom's.
Margaret Pendleton.
The bank was closed.
We would have to wait until morning.
I hated waiting.
That evening, Rachel helped me file for an emergency protective order.
I gave a formal statement.
Photographs were taken.
Medical documentation attached.
Every fact became a piece of paper.
For years, David had depended on silence.
Now I was creating records.
At 7:14 p.m., he called.
I didn't answer.
At 7:16, again.
Then a message.
Claire, I'm sorry.
Another.
Come home. We can fix this.
Another.
Rossi is using you.
Then:
Your father wasn't who you think he was.
I stared at it.
He called again.
This time, I answered.
“Tell me.”
“Claire.”
“Tell me what you meant.”
“I need to see you.”
“No.”
“Your father had secrets.”
“So do you.”
“You think Rossi is your hero?”
“I don't have heroes anymore.”
That silenced him.
“Claire, please.”
The word sounded strange from him.
“What did you do to my father?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you pay someone to tamper with his car?”
“No.”
“Did you ask Martin Wexler to stop him?”
Silence.
There.
I closed my eyes.
“You know Wexler.”
“Everybody knew Wexler.”
“Dad recorded you.”
Another silence.
Longer.
When David spoke again, the sweetness was gone.
“You don't understand what you're touching.”
“Then explain it.”
“Your father wasn't investigating me.”
“What?”
“He was investigating Richard.”
I remembered my uncle crying in the diner.
“You're lying.”
“Ask your uncle about the missing two million dollars.”
“What two million?”
“Ask him.”
David hung up.
I called Richard.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Rachel advised me not to chase him.
So naturally, I wanted to.
Dominic watched me pace.
“You can't investigate everyone tonight.”
“I lost three years.”
“You won't get them back by losing your judgment too.”
I stopped.
He was right.
I hated that.
At ten, Evelyn left under escort.
Rachel went home.
Dominic remained in the conference room.
“Why are you still here?”
“Because someone photographed you sleeping last night.”
“That doesn't make you responsible for me.”
“No.”
He stood.
“But your father once protected my family when doing so cost him politically. Staying in a chair for a few hours isn't much repayment.”
I studied him.
“Did your uncle ever ask my father for something illegal?”
Dominic didn't answer immediately.
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“To suppress evidence.”
“Did Dad?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“My grandfather and uncle didn't speak for almost two years afterward.”
“So your family wasn't simply grateful.”
“No family is simple.”
At least he admitted it.
“Did your uncle hate my father?”
“For a while.”
“Could he have hurt him?”
Dominic looked directly at me.
“I don't know.”
That answer frightened me more than denial.
At 11:43, Rachel called.
She had received an email from Richard.
One sentence.
I'M READY TO TELL CLAIRE EVERYTHING.
Attached was an address.
My father's old house.
The house had been empty since his death.
We drove there.
The porch light was on.
“Did you turn that on?” I asked.
“No.”
We approached.
The front door stood slightly open.
Dominic stopped me.
“Wait.”
Then a sound came from inside.
A chair scraping.
I called, “Uncle Richard?”
No answer.
I pushed the door.
The foyer was empty.
On the floor sat an envelope.
CLAIRE.
My father's handwriting again.
Behind us, the front door slammed shut.
May you like
And from the dark living room, a man's voice said:
“You weren't supposed to find that.”
