Chapter 6
Mia showed up at the diner ten minutes after Daniel left.
She was red-faced and furious, but when she saw the envelope and the look on my face, the anger melted into worry.
“Are you okay?” she said, dropping to her knees next to the booth and checking my forehead for a fever. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “We got it, Mia. We got the proof. Vanessa killed Ethan.”
Mia’s eyes went wide.
She read through the papers in ten seconds flat.
“Holy shit,” she whispered. “That crazy son of a bitch.”
She stood up and looked at Cole.
“Thank you,” she said, holding her hand out. “Seriously. You have no idea what this means to us.”
Cole shook her hand.
“Ethan was a good guy,” he said. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him. And neither did Rachel or the baby. It’s time Vanessa paid for what she did.”
Two detectives showed up five minutes later.
Detective Alvarez and Detective Miller.
Both in their forties, both tired-looking, both carrying notebooks.
They sat down across from us and listened while Cole told them everything.
The embezzlement.
The fight.
The fire.
Vanessa’s uncle pulling strings.
The restraining order.
Coming back to Chicago.
The recording.
The meeting with me.
I handed over the envelope.
Alvarez flipped through it, his face impassive.
When he finished, he looked at Miller.
“Sound familiar?” he said.
Miller nodded.
“Same M.O. as the Miller case out in Aurora two years ago. Woman dies in a house fire. Ruled an accident. Ex-boyfriend came forward saying she’d been dating a woman who threatened her. Cops wrote him off. Name of the girlfriend?”
He paused.
“Vanessa Holt.”
My blood ran cold.
“She’s done this before?” I said.
“Twice that we know of,” Alvarez said. “First time was ten years ago. College roommate died in a ‘bathroom accident.’ Drowned after slipping and hitting her head. Vanessa was the last person to see her alive. Got the girl’s full scholarship. Second was the Aurora case. Now this. Three dead people. All with Vanessa in the middle. All ruled accidents. All with Vanessa walking away with something—money, a place to live, a fresh start.”
He closed the envelope.
“We’re going to need both of you to come down to the station and give formal statements,” he said. “And we’re going to need to get this to the state’s attorney. If we can tie her to all three, she’s not going to see the outside of a prison cell for the rest of her life.”
We followed them out to their cars.
Mia drove Lila and me to the station.
We gave our statements.
Cole gave his.
We turned over every piece of evidence we had.
It was late afternoon by the time we left.
I was exhausted.
My incision was throbbing so bad I could barely walk.
Lila had woken up twice, screaming hungry, and I’d fed her in the backseat of the police car like a fugitive.
Mia pulled up in front of our house.
The house I’d shared with Daniel for four years.
The house where Vanessa had pushed me down the stairs.
The house where Ethan had died two years before.
Three cop cars were parked out front.
Lights flashing.
Yellow crime scene tape strung across the front lawn.
Neighbors were standing on their porches, staring, whispering to each other.
Daniel was sitting on the front steps, his head in his hands.
He looked up when we pulled up.
He stood up and walked over to the car.
His face was streaked with dirt and tears.
His left hand was wrapped in a bloodstained bandage.
“What happened?” Mia said, rolling the window down.
“Vanessa,” Daniel said. His voice was raw. “She called the cops. Said someone broke into the house. Said a woman matching Rachel’s description attacked her. She had fake bruises all over her arms. She told them Rachel had come after her with a baseball bat. Told them Rachel was unstable. Told them she was scared for her life.”
He ran a hand through his hair.
“I told them the truth,” he said. “Everything. About the fire. About the push. About the texts. They didn’t arrest her yet—her uncle called and got her a lawyer—but they took her in for questioning. They’re searching the house for evidence. The lighter fluid. The matches. Anything that ties her to Ethan’s death.”
I opened the car door and stepped out.
The pain in my stomach made me gasp.
Daniel reached out to help me.
I flinched away.
He pulled his hand back like he’d been burned.
“Rachel,” he said. “I am so sorry. I have been so stupid. So blind. I let her manipulate me. I let her hurt you. I let her hurt our daughter. I will never forgive myself. And I don’t expect you to, either. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. The house. The cars. All the money. Full custody of Lila. It’s yours. I’ll sign it all. I just… I just want to make this right.”
I didn’t answer.
I walked past him, Lila’s car seat in my hand, and up the front steps.
Two cops were coming out the front door carrying black evidence bags.
One had a bottle of lighter fluid peeking out the top.
Another had a stack of papers—Vanessa’s bank records, probably.
Mia walked past Daniel and followed me inside.
The house was a mess.
Drawers pulled out and dumped on the floor.
Cushions ripped off the couch.
The drywall around the staircase was still broken where Vanessa had ripped the camera out.
It didn’t feel like home anymore.
It felt like a crime scene.
Mia went into the kitchen to get me a glass of water.
I stood in the middle of the living room, holding Lila, looking at the photos on the mantel.
Daniel and I on our wedding day.
Ethan and Vanessa at their engagement party, smiling like they were in love.
Me, eight months pregnant, my hands on my stomach, Vanessa standing behind me with her hands on my shoulders.
I walked over and grabbed that photo.
I threw it in the fireplace.
It hit the grate and the glass cracked.
Mia came back into the room holding a glass of water and a crumpled piece of paper.
Her face was tight.
“Found this in the kitchen trash,” she said, handing it to me.
It was a receipt.
From a pharmacy on the west side.
Date: two days before Ethan died.
Item: One bottle of zolpidem.
Generic Ambien.
The same sedative the medical examiner had found in Ethan’s system during the autopsy.
The same one they’d ruled he’d taken himself to help him sleep.
Name on the prescription: Vanessa Holt.
I stared at the receipt.
She hadn’t just knocked him out.
She’d drugged him first.
Made sure he wouldn’t wake up when the fire started.
I handed the receipt to Mia.
“Call the detectives,” I said.
She nodded and pulled her phone out.
I walked over to the fireplace.
I looked down at the broken photo.
Vanessa’s face was cracked right down the middle.
May you like
Good.
Let her burn.
