Tense silence.
“Someone was here,” concluded the one named Mark. “Recently, the dust around it is disturbed. Do you think it was the police?”
“The police do not steal money. And look, there are footprints. Small ones.”
He pointed with the flashlight to the floor. Too small to be an adult.
My stomach sank.
“Child,” said the first man slowly. “Do you think…?”
“I think we have a problem.”
Mark took a cell phone out of his pocket. “I am going to call the boss. He needs to know.”
I could not allow it. If he called James, if he told him someone had been there, that possibly it was us.
But what could I do? I was locked in a closet with my six-year-old son, unarmed, trapped.
It was then that I heard the scream.
It came from outside. A female scream, loud, of terror.
“What the hell was that?” Mark bolted down the stairs. The other man went after him.
I did not waste time. I took Leo in my arms and ran. I went down the stairs so fast I almost tripped. The back door was open. They must have entered through there.
We got out. We ran to the wall. Catherine was there, panting.
“Was it you who screamed?” I asked while helping her jump the wall.
“I needed to get them out of there.”
“Did it work?”
“Yes.”
I showed her the backpack. “I took everything.”
We ran to her car, parked two blocks away. Only when we were inside, doors locked, engine on, and driving away, could I breathe.
“Those men saw that someone touched the safe,” I said. “They will tell James.”
“Excellent.”
I looked at her as if she were crazy. “What do you mean excellent?”
“Now he will know you are alive. He will know you have the proof. He will panic.” She smiled while driving. “And people in panic do stupid things.”
I do not know if I agreed with her logic, but I was too exhausted to argue.
Back at the office, we emptied the backpack on the desk. Documents, cell phones, money, the black notebook.
Catherine took the notebook first. She opened it. She started reading. And the more she read, the wider her smile became.
“Bingo,” she murmured.
“What is it? Is your husband meticulous or was he dumb?”
“Probably both.” She turned the notebook toward me. “Look at this. Dates, amounts, names. He documented every cent he borrowed from whom and when he had to pay. He even has notes about conversations with the lenders.”
I scanned the pages. Everything was there. Every debt, every threat he received. And then, on the last pages, final solution.
I read aloud. “Sarah’s life insurance, $2 million. The accident has to look natural. Contact mark. Fee, $50,000, half upfront. Date: November 21st.”
It was today, or rather, it was yesterday.
He wrote everything down.
I whispered in disbelief. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Insurance,” explained Catherine. “If something went wrong, he could use this as leverage against the guys he hired. Prove that they were also involved.”
She took one of the cell phones. “And I bet that in these cell phones, there is even more evidence. Conversations, calls.”
It took all night to examine everything. The cell phones were password protected, but Catherine had a contact who managed to unlock them, and everything was there. Messages between James and Mark.
It needs to be a day I am traveling. Solid alibi. It has to look accidental. Fire is good. Hard to trace.
“And the kid?” Mark had asked.
Also, no one can be left.
Also, James had written coldly about killing our son as if he were a minor detail, an inconvenience to solve.
I felt the hate grow inside me. A cold hate, sharp.
I was no longer the woman who had married believing she had found love. I was a mother protecting her son. And mothers are dangerous when their children are threatened.
“Is this enough to arrest him?” I asked.
“Enough to arrest, convict, and throw away the key,” confirmed Catherine. “But we need to do it right. If we hand this to the wrong police, James has enough money and connections to make it disappear, or worse, to make you guys disappear.”
“So, what do we do?”
She thought for a moment. “I know a detective, honest, incorruptible, from the homicide division. If we present the case to him, with all this proof, James has nowhere to run.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.” But before that, she looked at her cell phone. “Your husband has already tried to call you seven times in the last hour and sent you 15 messages.”
I picked up my cell phone. It was on silent, but the screen lit up with notification after notification.
Sarah, for the love of God, where are you, babe? I am desperate. Please answer me. The police said they did not find your body. Where are you? Are you hurt? Sarah, answer me.
And the most recent one, sent 5 minutes ago.
I know you are alive and I know you took the things from the safe. We need to talk. Urgent.
The mask had fallen. He knows.
I said, “Perfect.”
“Answer him.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“Answer him. Tell him you want to meet him in a public place tomorrow morning.”
“Why?”
Catherine smiled. That smile I learned to fear and admire at the same time. “Because we will give him a chance to hang himself.”
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