Chapter 11 - The Car That Never Sold

Mom told everyone she sold Dad’s car after his funeral.

She said keeping it was too painful.

The truth was different.

Vehicle records showed the car had never been sold.

Ownership had been transferred to a storage company.

The company was controlled by Northbridge.

Police found the car inside a private warehouse forty miles away.

Dust covered the windshield.

Dad’s coffee cup was still inside.

His jacket was folded in the back seat.

For the first time since his death, grief hit me harder than anger.

I could almost imagine him opening the driver’s door.

Almost hear him asking whether Daniel remembered his headphones.

The black bag was hidden beneath the spare tire.

Inside were two syringes.

A hospital access card.

A disposable phone.

And a handwritten list of medication doses.

The phone contained one unsent text message.

It was addressed to Dr. Clay.

T Bennett dose completed.

Complication.

Kid saw me.

Detective Harper looked at Daniel.

He turned away.

That message connected Marcus directly to Dad’s poisoning.

But the phone contained something else.

A voice memo.

Marcus and Clay were arguing.

Clay said Dad’s death had happened too soon.

Marcus accused Clay of panicking.

Then Clay said something that changed the investigation.

“I’m not going down for Bennett because Rebecca got emotional.”

Marcus laughed.

“You’re already in it.”

Clay answered.

“I never agreed to murder.”

Marcus said.

“You took the money.”

The recording ended.

Now authorities knew Clay had participated in the conspiracy but might not have approved Dad’s killing.

That made him unpredictable.

And dangerous.

The FBI issued a nationwide alert.

Two days later, Clay’s rental car was found abandoned near the Canadian border.

There was blood on the steering wheel.

No body.

No Clay.

Everyone assumed Marcus’s network was collapsing.

Then Detective Harper called me at 1:17 in the morning.

“Emily, wake Daniel.”

“What happened?”

“Marcus was attacked in county custody.”

I sat upright.

“What?”

“Someone put something in his food.”

“Is he alive?”

“For now.”

Daniel appeared in the doorway.

He had heard everything.

Harper continued.

“The substance was a concentrated sedative used in long-term care facilities.”

My stomach turned.

The same type of drug connected to one of Marcus’s former patients.

Someone was cleaning up the network.

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And Marcus might know who.

The next morning, he asked for me by name.