Chapter 5 - Poisoned Roots
Arthur stayed on his knees, weeping uncontrollably, his hands hovering inches above Clara’s boots as if touching her would shatter the apparition before him. “They showed me dental records, Clara,” he wept, tears soaking into his collar. “They found the burnt car at the bottom of the ravine. Eleanor brought the coroner personally… she held my hand while I identified the ring!”
“The ring she stole from my nightstand the night before she cut my brake lines,” Clara said coldly, stepping back to avoid his touch. “You didn't look close enough, Arthur. You never looked close enough. You were too busy mourning yourself to see what was right in front of you.”
Marcus holstered his weapon, kneeling beside Walter Cross. He pressed a cloth firmly against Walter’s bleeding shoulder, his mind racing through the wounded man’s dying confession: Ask your own precinct commander. Captain Miller had been the lead detective on Clara Sterling’s supposed fatal accident three years ago. Miller had signed the clearance forms that closed the investigation in less than seventy-two hours.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder as state police backup approached the estate gates.
“Arthur,” Marcus said sternly, cutting through the man’s emotional breakdown. “Eleanor fled on foot through the north garden. There’s a private dock at the edge of the lake on your property. Does she have access to a boat?”
Arthur looked up, his face pale and disoriented. “The… the boathouse. She had keys made last month. She said she wanted to remodel it into an art studio.”
“Damn it,” Marcus cursed under his breath. He turned to Clara. “Clara, take Maya and Leo. Go with Officer Diaz to the safe room in the basement. Do not trust any officer who arrives until my partner, Agent Chen from State Internal Affairs, shows her badge.”
Clara didn’t hesitate. She turned on her heel and ran back toward the sitting room. When she scooped Leo into her arms, the little boy buried his face into her wet neck, inhaling her scent. Though he was too young to remember her clearly, his tiny fingers tangled into her brown hair with an instinctive desperation.
“Mommy smells like the lavender garden,” Leo whispered sleepily, the antihistamines finally taking effect.
“Yes, baby,” Clara choked out, kissing his hot forehead over and over while Maya held tightly to her coat hem. “Mommy’s here. Mommy will never leave again.”
Meanwhile, Marcus sprinted through the rain-drenched north gardens. Mud sucked at his dress shoes as he pushed past overgrown rosebushes and wrought-iron statues. Ahead, the dark waters of Lake Oakhaven stretched into the mist.
At the end of the wooden dock, the boathouse doors were hanging open, banging violently in the wind. A 300-horsepower speedboat was already idling, its twin outboard motors humming with deep mechanical power.
Marcus leveled his weapon as he neared the wet dock boards. “Eleanor! Turn off the engines and step out onto the pier!”
A dark figure stepped from behind the fuel pump, but it wasn't Eleanor.
A tall man in a heavy black waterproof jacket turned toward Marcus, holding a suppressed tactical rifle. In the faint illumination of the dock lights, Marcus saw the silver shield pinned to his lapel.
It was Captain Miller.
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“You should have stayed retired, Vance,” Miller said coldly.
Before Marcus could pull the trigger, Miller squeezed off two suppressed rounds.
