PART 4
Someone hadn’t been fighting her here. They had been punishing her. I moved to the center of the stain. There were four distinct scuff marks on the floor around the blood pool. Boot marks, heavy treads. I placed my own boot next to one. It was a match for size, maybe a size 11 or 12. But there wasn’t just one set. There were scuffs at the head, scuffs at the arms, scuffs at the legs.
They had pinned her. Seven sons, I muttered, the bile rising in my throat. And one father. I could see it now, the geometry of the violence. It wasn’t a fight. It was an execution that stopped just short of death. I stood up, my breathing getting heavy. I needed proof. The police, Detective Miller, clearly wasn’t going to look for it.
Victor had likely bought the department a new fleet of cruisers years ago. If I wanted justice, I had to find what the cops were paid to ignore. I looked around the room. Why here? Why the dining room? Tessa was smart. Smarter than me, smarter than her brothers. She knew who her family was. She had told me once right before I deployed.
Hunter, my father is getting paranoid. He thinks I know too much about the shipping containers at the docks. If anything ever happens, check the table. At the time, I thought she was joking. We were drinking wine, laughing. I kissed her forehead and told her she watched too many spy movies. I cursed myself for not listening. I holstered the flashlight and crawled under the heavy oak dining table.
It was an antique, something Victor had given us as a wedding gift, probably to remind us that even our furniture belonged to him. I ran my hands along the underside of the wood. rough grain, spiderw webs, chewing gum I’d stuck there two years ago. Then my fingers brushed against something smooth plastic.
It was taped securely to the junction where the table leg met the frame. Duct tape. I peeled it back carefully. It was a digital voice recorder, small, black, unobtrusive. The red light was off, meaning the battery had died or it had run out of space. I pulled myself out from under the table, clutching the device like it was a holy relic.
I sat on the floor right next to the stain of my wife’s blood and pulled a spare pair of batteries from my pocket. I always carried spares. Old habits. I swapped the batteries. The screen flickered to life. Folder A1 file. Date yesterday. Time 7:42 p.m. My thumb hovered over the play button. I was terrified.
I have breached compounds with terrorists waiting on the other side. And my heart rate never went above 60. Right now, it was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I didn’t want to hear her pain, but I had to. I pressed play. Static. The sound of a door opening. Not kicked in. Open with a key. Then the voice. Smooth. Arrogant.
Hello, sweetheart. Daddy’s home. It was Victor. Then the sound of boots. many boots. The heavy thudding of a pack entering the room. Dad. Tessa’s voice. She sounded surprised but not shocked. She sounded resigned. I told you not to come here, Victor. You don’t tell me where to go, Tessa. Victor said, we own this town.
We own this street and we own you. I’m not signing the papers, Dad. Tessa said. Her voice was shaking but strong. I’m not letting you use Hunter’s name for your shell companies. He’s a soldier. He’s honorable. I won’t let you drag him into your filth. Honorable. A new voice scoffed. It was Dominic.
I recognized the sneer. He’s a grunt, a paid killer. We’re just giving him a reason to retire. Grab her, Victor commanded. The recording dissolved into the sounds of a scuffle, a chair scraping, Tessa’s screaming. Not a scream of fear, but of fury. Get off me. Get off. Then a sickening thud. The first hit. I flinched in the dark dining room as if I had been hit myself.
Hold her legs, Mason. Grant, get her arms. Don’t let her move. I paused the tape. I couldn’t listen to the rest. Not yet. I had heard enough to know the truth. The police report was a lie. The robbery was a fairy tale. This was a family meeting. I put the recorder in my pocket. I stood up.
May you like
The sadness that had been weighing on my chest evaporated. In its place, something cold and hard settled in. It was a feeling I hadn’t felt since my last tour in the mountains. It was the feeling of clarity. I walked out of the dining room and into the garage. Most suburban dads have a garage full of lawnmowers, rakes, and maybe a toolbox. I had those things, too.
But behind the pegboard where I hung my wrenches, there was a false wall. I pushed the hidden latch. The pegboard swung open. Inside was a heavy steel safe. I spun the dial. Left, right, left. Click. The door swung open. Inside wasn’t a collection of hunting rifles. It was my past. It was the things the military let me keep and the things I had acquired on my own.
