Chapter 4 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN THE DRAWER
The police station smelled like old coffee and wet coats.
Detective Marcus Bell met me in a small interview room.
He was in his forties, with tired eyes and the careful voice of someone who had learned not to frighten witnesses unnecessarily.
He placed a photograph on the table.
I stared.
It showed me leaving my apartment building.
Three weeks earlier.
I was wearing my red winter coat.
Holding a grocery bag.
My stomach tightened.
"Who took this?"
"We don't know."
I looked at him.
"Why would Daniel have it?"
"That's what we're investigating."
He placed another photograph beside it.
Me entering the hospital where my mother received treatment.
Then another.
Me outside The Linden Room.
I felt sick.
"Someone's been following me?"
"It appears possible."
I swallowed.
"Why?"
Detective Bell studied me.
"Do you know Thomas Ellis?"
I shook my head.
"Only by name. Mrs. Ellis's son."
"Did you ever meet him?"
"No."
He nodded.
Then showed me another photograph.
A man in his early forties stood beside a woman outside a medical clinic.
The woman was my mother.
I stared.
"That's Mom."
"Do you recognize the man?"
I shook my head.
"No."
Detective Bell leaned forward.
"His name is Thomas Ellis."
My heart pounded.
"Why was he with my mother?"
"We're hoping she can tell us."
I drove directly to my mother's apartment.
She opened the door wearing her favorite blue cardigan.
"Sophie?"
I held up the photograph.
"Mom, who is this?"
Her expression changed instantly.
She gripped the doorframe.
"Where did you get that?"
"From the police."
Her face went pale.
"Oh, God."
I stepped inside.
"Mom."
She closed the door.
Then sat heavily on the sofa.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Finally, she whispered:
"Thomas Ellis was helping me."
I stared.
"Helping you with what?"
She looked at me.
"Your father's death."
My father had died when I was sixteen.
A construction accident.
That was what we'd been told.
He'd fallen from scaffolding at a warehouse renovation.
The company had paid a settlement.
We'd buried him.
And life had continued.
Or something resembling life.
I stared at my mother.
"What about Dad?"
She began crying.
"Thomas found documents."
"What documents?"
She shook her head.
"He said the accident wasn't an accident."
My blood went cold.
"Mom."
She looked up.
"He said someone had ordered the safety equipment removed before your father went onto the scaffolding."
I couldn't breathe.
"Who?"
She swallowed.
May you like
Then whispered:
"Someone connected to the Voss family."
