Chapter 7 - The Boy Who Walked Willingly
"Why would he do that?" I asked.
Ortiz rewound the footage. Ben opened the passenger door himself. His shoulders were tight, but he didn't fight. Just before he got in, he looked straight at the building camera and tapped his right wrist twice.
It was a gesture we'd made up when he was little. Dad used to work overnight shifts. If a stranger came to the apartment claiming Dad had sent them, Ben was supposed to tap his wrist and ask for the family code. Twice meant: I'm doing this because I have to.
"He was protecting somebody," I said. "He thought they'd come after me."
Elias looked down at the still image. "Rafe shouldn't have been working yesterday. I signed his suspension papers last week."
"For what?" Ortiz asked.
"Missing overtime reports. He billed the company for two nights when the alarm system showed him off-site. Dad overruled me."
The room fell silent. Another thread led to Everett, whether the older man wanted it or not.
By late afternoon, doctors released me with instructions and medication I promised to take. Elias had a car waiting, but I refused to go to Bellwether until Ortiz assigned officers to search it. A judge authorized a limited search of the study and relevant security systems after the police submitted the evidence they had collected.
We returned just before sunset. The house looked indecently peaceful. Rain polished the broad windows. Someone had replaced the dining room flowers. A maid I knew named June stood in the service corridor with a suitcase by her feet.
"They're firing all of us," she whispered. "They say you tried to kill him."
"That's not what happened," Elias told her. "Nobody's losing a job for telling the truth."
"Your father's lawyer sent the letters."
Elias took one, read it, and tore it in half. "Then he'll get a letter from mine."
In the study, the old grandfather clock leaned against a wall. Its long wooden case had a scar where my father once repaired the hinge. A note in his handwriting had been hidden under the felt in its base. I'd pulled it out the morning before dinner.
STUDY. MIDNIGHT. SAFE.
An officer looked at the bronze safe behind the painting. "Time lock," he said. "Can't be opened before midnight without specialized work."
Elias shook his head. "Dad says there's nothing in it but old contracts."
"Then midnight won't hurt," Ortiz replied.
May you like
A sharp scraping sound came from inside the clock.
We all turned. The clock's hands were moving, even though its pendulum was missing.
