Chapter 5 - The First Lie
By sunrise, the house had become a crime scene again.
Police collected the photograph, photographed the footprints, and took Claire's phone for a digital copy of the threat. Ethan barely spoke. Every few minutes he checked Lily's bassinet to make sure she was breathing.
Detective Lena Brooks arrived at seven thirty. She was in her forties, calm, direct, and unimpressed by family drama.
"Your mother made bail an hour ago," she said.
Ethan stared at her. "Already?"
"Her attorney moved fast. She has a no-contact order. If she comes near your wife, you call us."
"What about the break-in?"
"We're looking at it."
Claire sat at the kitchen table with an ice pack against her head.
Brooks placed the photograph in an evidence sleeve.
"Tell me about Noah Hale."
Ethan gave the old story.
Brooks listened, then asked, "Was there an autopsy?"
"Of course."
"Did you ever read it?"
"No."
"Did you ever see the police report?"
"No. My mother handled everything."
Brooks and Claire exchanged a glance.
Ethan hated that glance.
"What?"
The detective leaned forward. "Your brother's blood alcohol level was zero."
Ethan's breath stopped.
"That's not possible."
"It is. The report is archived. I pulled it after hearing your statement this morning."
Ethan gripped the edge of the counter.
His entire family had repeated the same sentence for twelve years: Noah was drunk.
His mother had said it at the funeral.
His mother had said it when Ethan blamed himself.
His mother had said it every time his father tried to talk about that night.
"Why would she lie?"
Brooks did not answer.
Claire whispered, "Because if Noah wasn't drunk, people would ask why he crashed."
The detective slid a photocopy across the table.
A witness statement.
A farmer living near the road had reported seeing another vehicle close behind Noah's car minutes before the crash.
Vehicle description: dark SUV.
Partial plate:
K9L.
Ethan looked toward the window.
May you like
The same three characters from the SUV outside his home hours earlier.
Then Brooks said, "There's one more thing. The registered owner at the time was your mother."
