Chapter 9 - MY FATHER’S CONFESSION
Elsie could not feel her feet.
Walter held the syringe like it weighed fifty pounds.
Roman moved between them automatically.
Elsie stepped around him.
“No.”
Her voice sounded unfamiliar.
“Let him talk.”
Walter sat in the pew opposite Salvatore.
For years, Elsie had thought of her father as weak.
Now she saw something worse.
A man who had been carrying one specific moment every day.
“Did you kill Mom?”
Walter started crying.
“Answer me.”
“No.”
Elsie’s entire body loosened and tightened at once.
“Then why do you have that?”
“Because I found it.”
“Where?”
“In Diane’s room.”
He told them.
The night Diane died, Walter arrived after midnight because the hospital called.
She had already stopped breathing.
A nurse was working beside her.
Another doctor entered.
Walter noticed a syringe beneath the bed because Diane had trained everyone in the family to notice things that did not belong.
He picked it up.
Later, terrified someone might accuse him of tampering with the room, he took it home instead of turning it over.
“A brilliant decision,” Elsie said bitterly.
“I was scared.”
“You are always scared.”
He accepted it.
Salvatore looked at the syringe.
“Did you test it?”
“No.”
Roman took out his phone.
“We will.”
Walter shook his head.
“There’s something else.”
Of course.
Diane had briefly awakened before she died.
She said three words.
“Not the nurse.”
Elsie frowned.
“That’s all?”
Walter reached into his pocket and removed a folded paper.
“No.”
Diane had written something.
Her handwriting weak.
Almost unreadable.
W.M. SAW HIM.
Roman read it.
“W.M.?”
Walter whispered, “William Mercer.”
A retired Suffolk County detective.
Diane’s childhood friend.
He had been investigating Teresa Vale’s disappearance unofficially.
Elsie remembered him.
Uncle Bill.
Not really an uncle.
He stopped coming around after Diane’s funeral.
“Where is he?”
Walter looked at Salvatore.
Salvatore answered.
“Florida.”
“Alive?”
“As far as I know.”
Roman already had Norah searching.
Eight minutes later, she called.
William Mercer had not moved to Florida.
He had entered witness protection.
Elsie stared.
“Why?”
Norah hesitated.
“Because he witnessed Diane Parker’s murder.”
Every person in the church went silent.
Then Norah said something worse.
“He identified the killer in a sealed federal statement.”
Elsie’s hands went cold.
“Who?”
“The statement is restricted.”
Roman asked, “Can Mercer be contacted?”
“Federal liaison is checking.”
Salvatore leaned back against the pew.
“He won’t talk.”
Elsie turned.
“Why?”
“Because the man who killed Diane still has access to federal law enforcement.”
Roman’s expression changed.
A corrupt official.
Someone capable of burying evidence.
Then Salvatore looked directly at Elsie.
“And he was sitting in the front row at your wedding.”
Elsie thought of the guests.
Politicians.
Judges.
Executives.
Police officials.
Then she remembered Adrien’s godfather.
Boston Deputy Commissioner Patrick Howerin.
The same Howerin whose customs paperwork Elsie had once been manipulated into asking about.
May you like
The questions had never been random.
They had been circling Diane’s killer from the beginning.
