Chapter 6
The drive to Arthur and Brooke's house took twenty minutes.
Torres drove.
Two uniformed officers followed behind.
I stared out the window at the passing streets.
Westbridge.
The town I'd grown up in.
The town I'd left as soon as I could.
I hadn't come back often.
There were reasons for that.
Reasons I'd buried deep.
But they were rising to the surface now.
My father had died when I was twelve.
Heart attack.
Sudden.
Ugly.
Mom had been destroyed.
Arthur, who was sixteen at the time, had tried to step up.
But he was just a kid.
And kids don't make good fathers.
We'd struggled.
Mom worked two jobs.
Arthur started skipping school.
I buried myself in books.
That was how we coped.
Each in our own way.
Then Brooke showed up.
I'd been gone by then.
Living in the city.
Building my career.
Arthur had called, excited.
Said he'd met someone.
Someone special.
I'd come home for Christmas that year.
Met her.
And I'd known.
Something was wrong.
She was too charming.
Too perfect.
She laughed at all of Arthur's jokes.
Agreed with everything he said.
But her eyes...
When she thought no one was looking...
They were cold.
Calculating.
I'd tried to warn him.
Gently.
Carefully.
"She seems intense," I'd said.
Arthur had gotten defensive.
"She loves me, Clara. Nobody's ever loved me like this."
And that had been the problem.
Arthur had spent his whole life feeling like he wasn't enough.
Not enough for Dad.
Not enough for Mom.
Not enough compared to the sister who'd gotten the scholarship and the fancy job.
Brooke had seen that.
And she'd exploited it.
She'd told him exactly what he wanted to hear.
That he was strong.
That he was smart.
That only she understood him.
Then she'd started isolating him.
First his friends.
Then his coworkers.
Then us.
Mom would call.
Arthur would make excuses.
Birthday dinners missed.
Holidays spent alone.
Mom had blamed herself.
Said she must have done something wrong.
I'd blamed Arthur.
For being weak.
For letting her do it.
Now...
I didn't know what to think.
Torres pulled into the driveway.
A modest suburban home.
Picket fence.
Well-kept lawn.
The kind of house where terrible things could happen behind closed doors.
And nobody would ever know.
"Ready?" Torres asked.
I nodded.
We walked up to the door.
Before I could knock, it swung open.
Arthur stood there.
Pale.
Shaking.
"She's gone," he said.
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
"She left. Ten minutes ago. Packed a bag."
"She said... she said she knew they were coming for her."
"She said if she was going down, she was taking everyone with her."
"Which way did she go?"
"I don't know. She wouldn't say."
He looked like he might collapse.
"Clara, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
I stepped past him.
Into the house.
The living room was a mess.
Drawers pulled open.
Clothes scattered across the floor.
She'd left in a hurry.
"Torres, put out an APB. Brooke Vance. Likely heading toward the state line."
"Got it."
I walked through the house.
The kitchen.
Bedrooms.
And then I found it.
The office.
Arthur's desk.
Or what used to be his desk.
Now it was covered in Brooke's things.
Papers.
Files.
And a locked safe in the corner.
"Arthur," I called.
He came in.
Stared at the safe like he'd never seen it before.
"She never let me in there," he said.
"Always said it was personal papers."
"Do you know the combination?"
He shook his head.
Torres knelt down.
Examined the safe.
"Standard residential model. I can get it open."
Five minutes later, the safe clicked open.
Inside...
Bank statements.
Insurance policies.
And a stack of letters.
Handwritten.
I picked up the top one.
Dated six months ago.
The handwriting was shaky.
Desperate.
It was from Arthur.
To Brooke.
"I can't do this anymore," it read.
"The way you talk to me. The way you control everything."
"I want a divorce. I want my life back."
"Please don't hurt me."
The last three words.
Please don't hurt me.
My brother.
The man who'd once protected me from bullies at school.
Had been writing letters to his wife, begging her not to hurt him.
I looked at Arthur.
He was standing in the doorway.
Watching me read.
Shame washed over his face.
"She found it," he said quietly.
"That's when everything got worse."
"She said if I ever tried to leave again... she'd kill Mom. Then she'd kill me. Then she'd kill herself."
"She said nobody would believe me. That her uncle would make sure I went to prison for her murder."
"I believed her, Clara. God help me, I believed her."
The pieces were falling into place now.
The divorce papers filed and withdrawn.
The sudden cash deposit into Brooke's account.
Arthur's silence at the precinct.
He hadn't just been weak.
He'd been terrified.
Brooke had been abusing him for years.
Emotionally.
Psychologically.
And when he'd tried to escape...
She'd threatened to murder his mother.
That night at the house...
Mom had shown up with an anniversary gift.
Brooke had seen her chance.
Beat her nearly to death.
Then told Arthur that if he said one word...
Next time, she'd finish the job.
And he'd believed her.
Because he'd learned over three years of marriage that Brooke always kept her promises.
The bad ones.
I put the letter down.
"Arthur..."
He broke down.
Right there in the doorway.
Sobbing.
"I'm sorry," he cried. "I'm so sorry."
"I should have stopped her. I should have protected her."
"I'm a coward. I'm nothing but a coward."
Torres looked at me.
Question in his eyes.
I shook my head slightly.
Not now.
There would be time for reckoning later.
Right now, Brooke was loose.
And she was dangerous.
My phone rang.
Chen.
"We've got a problem," she said.
"Landry just made bail."
I closed my eyes.
Of course he had.
"His lawyer filed an emergency motion. Judge granted it."
"Clara, if those two get together..."
"I know."
Landry was free.
Brooke was missing.
Two dangerous people.
Both with everything to lose.
And they both knew exactly where my mother was.
May you like
"The hospital," I said.
"I'm on my way."
