Chapter 9
Police found them at an abandoned lakeside cabin forty miles outside town.
I wasn’t allowed near the property.
Neither was Amy.
We waited at the station while Harris coordinated with officers.
Three hours felt like three days.
Finally, the call came.
Marcus was in custody.
Teresa was alive.
Nobody had been seriously hurt.
But the biggest shock came afterward.
Marcus wanted to talk.
Not to police.
To me.
Harris refused at first.
Then Marcus offered information about Dad’s death.
We agreed to a supervised interview.
Marcus sat behind reinforced glass.
He looked smaller than the man from his photographs.
Older.
Tired.
But his eyes were cold.
“You look like Thomas.”
I didn’t respond.
“Teresa always hated that.”
“Tell me what happened to my father.”
Marcus smiled slightly.
“You’re not interested in your brother?”
“Daniel wants nothing from you.”
That smile disappeared.
“He talked to you?”
“Yes.”
Marcus leaned back.
“Then Teresa lost both sons.”
“You’re wasting time.”
His expression hardened.
“Your father discovered everything.”
“I know.”
“No. You know pieces.”
“Then give me the rest.”
Marcus looked toward the detective.
“I want a deal.”
Harris answered.
“You’re in no position to demand one.”
Marcus laughed.
“Then you’ll never know which one of us killed Thomas.”
My blood went cold.
“One of you?”
He leaned forward.
“Teresa wants you to believe I did it.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“You already know.”
I stared through the glass.
“My mother?”
Marcus said nothing.
“Did Teresa kill Dad?”
“She stopped his medication.”
“We know.”
“That wasn’t enough.”
My stomach turned.
“What did she do?”
Marcus lowered his voice.
“Thomas found the pills missing. He confronted her. So she put them back.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“They weren’t his pills anymore.”
Harris leaned closer.
“What were they?”
Marcus smiled.
“You’ll have to test what’s left of Thomas.”
The room went silent.
Dad had been buried four years.
Harris ended the interview immediately.
An exhumation order was requested.
Teresa was questioned separately.
For eleven hours, she denied everything.
Then police showed her Dad’s letter.
The bank records.
The messages.
Victor’s statement.
Dr. Cross’s confession.
Marcus’s interview.
She broke.
Not completely.
But enough.
She admitted taking Dad’s medication.
She admitted paying Dr. Cross.
She admitted forging trust documents.
She admitted stealing money.
But she refused to admit poisoning him.
“I loved Thomas,” she told investigators.
I watched from another room.
Amy stood beside me.
Teresa cried.
“He was my husband.”
Harris asked, “Then why did you tell Victor it was finally over?”
Teresa stared at the table.
“Because Thomas was destroying everything.”
“How?”
“He was going to expose Daniel.”
“Daniel was an innocent child.”
“He was my mistake!”
I flinched.
Amy whispered, “She doesn’t deserve either of you.”
Teresa continued.
“Thomas wanted Ryan to meet him.”
“Why was that a problem?”
“Because Ryan would hate me.”
There it was.
Not grief.
Not guilt.
Fear of consequences.
Everything Teresa had done was about control.
Harris asked one final question.
“Did you replace Thomas’s medication?”
Teresa looked toward the camera.
She knew I was watching.
Somehow, she always knew.
Then she smiled.
“Ask Marcus.”
The exhumation happened two days later.
Testing took longer.
During that time, the court suspended Teresa and Victor as trustees.
Harold Benson’s amendment was temporarily recognized.
For the first time, the house legally returned to me.
But Amy didn’t celebrate.
Neither did I.
We waited.
Then Harris came to the house one evening.
No phone call.
No warning.
I saw his expression and knew.
He sat at our kitchen table.
The same table where Teresa had humiliated Amy.
The same room where everything started.
“We found evidence of a cardiac medication your father was never prescribed.”
“Could it have killed him?”
“Yes.”
“Was it in his system?”
“Based on tissue testing, we believe so.”
Amy took my hand.
I barely felt it.
“Who gave it to him?”
Harris looked at me.
“We found a fingerprint on the original medication bottle retained in evidence after his death.”
“Whose?”
“Marcus Vale.”
My jaw tightened.
“So Marcus killed him.”
Harris shook his head.
“Not necessarily.”
He placed another report on the table.
“There were two sets of prints.”
May you like
I already knew before he said it.
“The second belonged to Teresa.”
