The police took Vanessa's statement at my kitchen table.
She kept her hands folded in front of her.
Every few minutes she looked toward the garage.
As if the hidden room might somehow open again.
“Sarah was my younger sister,” she said.
“How old was she?” the officer asked.
“Seventeen.”
“When did she die?”
“Fifteen years ago.”
“What happened?”
Vanessa swallowed.
“Car accident.”
Eric sat across from her.
“You said Ray knew what happened.”
“I said I think he did.”
“What aren't you telling us?”
Vanessa looked at him.
“I wasn't there.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because Sarah called me that night.”
The room went quiet.
“What did she say?”
“She was frightened.”
“Of what?”
“She said someone was following her.”
The officer wrote that down.
“Who?”
“She didn't know.”
“Did she mention Ray?”
Vanessa hesitated.
“Yes.”
Eric leaned forward.
“What did she say?”
“She said Ray had taken something from our father's office.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you ask?”
“She was crying. The call ended.”
“Then what?”
“Twenty minutes later, we got a call from the police.”
Eric looked down.
“And your family accepted that it was an accident.”
Vanessa nodded.
“My father did.”
“What about Ray?”
“He said Sarah had been drinking.”
“Was she?”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“She hated alcohol.”
The officer closed his notebook.
“Was there an investigation?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Nothing came of it.”
Eric looked at me.
I could see the same question in his eyes.
Why had Vanessa hidden this for so long?
She answered before he asked.
“Because after Sarah died, Ray told me to stop asking questions.”
“Why?”
“He said I'd end up dead too.”
The room was silent.
Then the officer asked:
“What did Sarah take from your father's office?”
Vanessa shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“Where is your father now?”
“Dead.”
“Your mother?”
“Dead.”
“Then Ray is the only living person who may know.”
Vanessa nodded.
Eric stood.
“We need to find him.”
The officer stopped him.
“You're not going anywhere.”
“Then find him.”
“We are.”
The officer stepped into the hallway to make a call.
I stayed with Vanessa.
“Why did you marry Eric without telling him about any of this?”
She looked exhausted.
“I wanted a normal life.”
“You built one on top of a grave.”
She looked down.
“I know.”
I didn't say anything else.
Then Brooks appeared at the doorway.
“Grandma?”
I turned.
“What is it?”
“Can I talk to Dad?”
Eric came over.
Brooks whispered something.
Eric's expression changed.
“What did you say?”
Brooks repeated himself.
“I saw Uncle Ray last week.”
Vanessa stood.
“Where?”
“At school.”
“When?”
“After practice.”
“What was he doing?”
“He gave me something.”
Eric crouched.
“What did he give you?”
Brooks reached into his pocket.
A small brass key.
My heart sank.
“Where did you get that?”
“Uncle Ray said not to tell.”
Eric stared at the key.
The officer returned.
“What happened?”
Eric held it up.
“This came from Ray.”
The officer took it.
“Did he tell you what it opens?”
Brooks shook his head.
“He said Dad would know.”
Eric looked at me.
“I don't.”
The officer examined the key.
A number was engraved on it.
17.
“Could be a locker,” he said.
Brooks suddenly spoke.
“It's for Grandma's old house.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“The one Dad took me to last summer.”
Eric's face changed.
“My old house.”
I knew the place.
A small property I had inherited years ago and rarely used.
The officer looked at Eric.
“Do you have access?”
“Yes.”
“Then we're going.”
We left two officers at the house with Vanessa and the children.
The rest of us drove to the property.
It took twenty minutes.
The house stood dark beneath the trees.
Eric unlocked the front door.
Dust covered the floor.
Nothing seemed disturbed.
The key didn't fit any door.
We searched room by room.
Finally, Eric remembered the basement.
There was an old storage locker built into the concrete wall.
The number on it was 17.
The key turned.
Inside was a metal box.
Eric opened it.
A photograph lay on top.
Sarah.
She was smiling.
Behind her stood Ray.
Beside him was another man.
Eric picked up the picture.
“Who's that?”
Vanessa wasn't there to answer.
The officer studied it.
“We'll identify him.”
Under the photograph was a notebook.
The first page contained names.
Dates.
Payments.
Addresses.
Eric turned pages.
Then he stopped.
My name was there.
So was his.
So was Vanessa's.
The children weren't listed by name.
They were listed by initials.
I felt sick.
“What is this?”
The officer took the notebook.
“A ledger.”
“For what?”
“We'll know once we examine it.”
Eric turned another page.
There was a reference to a company.
A company I recognized.
It had once done business with Ray.
He had always described it as a small investment firm.
The officer photographed the page.
Then Eric found something else.
A handwritten note.
Sarah's handwriting.
He recognized it immediately.
It said:
Ray isn't working alone.
He's afraid of someone above him.
And that person knows Vanessa.
Eric looked at Vanessa's photograph.
Then at me.
“Who knew her?”
I thought about the people who had been around our family.
Neighbors.
Business associates.
Friends.
Relatives.
Then one name surfaced.
“Michael.”
The officer shook his head.
“Michael is too young.”
“No.”
I looked closer at the photograph.
The man beside Ray wasn't Michael.
He was older.
Much older.
And suddenly I recognized him.
I had seen him at family gatherings.
At funerals.
At Eric's wedding.
At birthdays.
A man everyone called harmless.
A man who had always sat quietly and listened.
Eric stared at me.
“Who?”
I said his name.
“Uncle Thomas.”
The officer looked up.
“Your brother?”
“My husband's uncle.”
Eric shook his head.
“That can't be.”
“Why?”
“Because Thomas died eight years ago.”
The officer's expression changed.
He turned the photograph over.
There was a date.
The photograph had been taken four years after Thomas supposedly died.
Nobody spoke.
Then Eric's phone rang.
The caller ID showed Ray.
He answered.
“Where are you?”
Ray's voice was barely audible.
“I don't have much time.”
“Where are the children?”
“Safe.”
“Who is behind this?”
Ray breathed heavily.
“You've already met him.”
“Thomas?”
Silence.
Eric looked at me.
“Ray?”
The voice came back.
“Thomas never died.”
The call ended.
Before Eric could react, headlights appeared outside the house.
A vehicle stopped at the gate.
The officer drew his weapon.
“Everybody down.”
A figure stepped out.
He walked toward the house.
Slowly.
Confidently.
Then the porch light came on.
Eric stared through the window.
The man outside looked directly at him.
I knew that face.
I had seen it at my kitchen table.
At Christmas.
At weddings.
At funerals.
A man I had trusted for years.
Thomas.
He smiled.
Then he raised one hand.
And waved.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Thomas Walked Out of the Darkness Alive, and His Explanation Forced Us to Reconsider Everything We Believed About Vanessa
The Children Arrived With More Than Weekend Bags, and the One Envelope I Refused to Open Made My Son Race Home
Part 6 of 8
