It wasn’t Daniel’s truck.
The car stayed at the end of the street for four minutes.
I counted.
Then it moved on.
I stepped back from the window and told myself it was nothing.
A neighbor checking their phone.
Someone lost.
I told myself that, and I almost believed it.
“We can’t stay here,” Ava said.
“We’re not running anywhere.
Not yet.” I picked up the photograph again.
“We need to think.”
“There’s nothing to think about.
You have the note.
You have the photo.
You have me.”
“My word and yours against a police report that’s five years old.” I set the photo down.
“We need more.”
Ava was quiet for a moment.
Then: “His brother.”
I looked at her.
“Marcus,” she said.
“Daniel’s brother.
He was there that night.
Not at the crash — but before.
He was at the house when Daniel started drinking.
He left before Daniel made us get in the car, but he saw the state Daniel was in.” She hesitated.
“He called me once.
About a year after I moved in here.
He said he was sorry.
He said he’d been carrying something heavy and he didn’t know what to do with it.”
“Did he say what?”
“He said Daniel had called him from the hospital.
Before the police arrived.
He said Daniel told him there’d been an accident and to keep his mouth shut.” Ava’s voice was flat.
“Marcus hung up on him.
But he never came forward either.”
I sat back down at the table.
Marcus.
I had known Marcus for fifteen years.
He came to Christmas dinner.
He’d stood at Chloe’s graveside with his hat in his hands and wept.
And he had known.
“Do you still have his number?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t call him yet.” I pressed my fingers to my temple.
“If Daniel suspects something, the first thing he’ll do is call Marcus.
We can’t warn him that we’re coming.”
Ava nodded slowly.
“So what do we do?”
“Tonight, nothing.
We act normal.
