Chapter 38: Married to the Enemy

I read the note three times.

"Meet me where your brother made his last phone call."

No signature.

No address.

Only those nine words.

The handwriting wasn't Nathaniel's.

It was newer.

Sharper.

Someone had slipped it inside the notebook after I opened the safety deposit box.

Which meant one thing.

I wasn't the only person watching Nathaniel's evidence.

"Rose," I called.

She entered moments later.

"Did anyone come into my office while I was with Victor?"

"No, Madam."

"Not that I saw."

"What about the notebook?"

"Has anyone touched it besides me?"

She shook her head.

"Never."

I folded the note and slipped it into my pocket.

"Cancel my afternoon appointments."

"You're going out?"

"For an hour."

"Don't tell anyone where."

"Not even Mr. Hayes?"

"Not even Victor."

"Understood."

Half an hour later I parked outside a quiet service station on the edge of the city.

Nathaniel's final phone record had been made from here.

Nothing had changed.

The old café still stood beside the fuel pumps.

A cracked payphone remained near the entrance.

Most people ignored it.

I walked inside.

An elderly cashier looked up from his newspaper.

"Can I help you?"

"Three years ago..."

"A man came here just before a fatal accident."

"Tall."

"Dark hair."

"His name was Nathaniel Clarke."

Recognition flickered across the man's face.

"You're his sister."

"You remember him."

"Hard to forget."

"He seemed frightened."

"Kept looking through the window."

"Did he meet anyone?"

The cashier hesitated.

"Not inside."

"Outside."

"A young woman arrived in a silver hatchback."

"Did you know her?"

"No."

"But she wasn't alone."

"Another car stopped across the road."

"Black sedan."

"Windows tinted."

"Could you see the driver?"

"Only for a second."

"Was it Damien?"

"No."

"Definitely older."

"Grey hair."

"Expensive suit."

"Nathaniel argued with him?"

"No."

"They never spoke."

"The older man stayed inside the car."

"Your brother looked at him once... then drove away."

"And the young woman?"

"She followed him."

A chill spread through my body.

"Did police ask you any of this?"

"No."

"Nobody ever came back."

"Until today."

He reached beneath the counter.

"Actually..."

"Your brother left something here."

"He asked me to hand it to his sister if she ever returned."

My heart stopped.

"You still have it?"

The old man nodded.

He placed a faded brown envelope on the counter.

"I almost threw it away last month."

"Good thing I didn't."

I carefully opened it.

Inside was a disposable camera.

Unused.

Except for one missing exposure.

Twenty-three photographs remained.

Only one had been taken.

"Can these still be developed?"

"Maybe."

"The photography shop two streets over still handles old film."

"Thank you."

I left immediately.

Forty minutes later I sat inside the tiny photography studio.

The technician examined the camera.

"This film is old."

"It'll take a while."

"I'll wait."

An hour passed.

Finally he returned carrying a single printed photograph.

"Only one image survived."

He handed it over.

The picture had been taken through a windshield.

Nathaniel must have snapped it while sitting inside his car.

Across the road stood the black sedan the cashier described.

The driver's door was open.

A man stood beside it.

The image was blurry.

His face impossible to identify.

But one detail remained perfectly clear.

A silver wolf-head cufflink.

Identical to the pair Damien wore during every board meeting.

My fingers tightened around the photograph.

No.

Those cufflinks had belonged to Damien's late father.

Only two pairs had ever existed.

One belonged to Damien.

The other...

Richard Hawthorne.

Someone cleared his throat behind me.

"Interesting photograph."

I turned sharply.

Damien stood at the entrance of the shop.

Still wearing his office suit.

Still watching me.

"You've been following me."

"No."

"I tracked the GPS in your car."

"You what?"

"After everything that's happened... yes."

"You had no right."

"Maybe not."

"But I was right to worry."

His eyes settled on the photograph in my hand.

"What did you find?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Everything concerning Nathaniel concerns me."

"Why?"

The question escaped before I could stop it.

"Because he was your friend?"

"Or because he knew something about your family?"

Damien's expression changed.

"Who told you that?"

"Answer me first."

Several long seconds passed.

Finally he spoke.

"Nathaniel saved my life once."

"Years before I met you."

"I owed him more than I ever repaid."

"Then why did you hate him after he died?"

"I never hated Nathaniel."

"I hated what I believed he helped you hide."

For the first time since our marriage...

His voice carried no anger.

Only exhaustion.

"Vivian..."

"If everything I've believed these last three years is wrong..."

"Then I've been married to the wrong enemy."

I looked down at the photograph again.

The silver wolf-head cufflink gleamed beneath the afternoon sun.

Suddenly I understood.

Nathaniel hadn't been investigating Damien.

He had been investigating the people standing behind Damien all along.