Chapter 6 - REBECCA'S REAL CONFESSIONI wanted Rebecca arrested immediately.
I didn't care about procedure.
I didn't care about strategy.
I wanted police to drag her into an interrogation room and keep her there until every truth came out.
Martinez stopped me from calling her.
“If she was inside that vehicle, investigators need to approach this carefully.”
“She watched my wife die.”
“We don't know that.”
“She was there.”
“Yes.”
“And she lied for eighteen months.”
“Yes.”
“You keep saying yes like that isn't enough.”
“It may be enough for certain charges. It isn't automatically enough to prove murder.”
I walked away.
By afternoon, detectives brought Rebecca in.
Her attorney accompanied her.
They showed her a still frame from the dashcam.
Rebecca stared at it.
Then began vomiting.
That reaction told me more than any confession could.
Her attorney requested a break.
When questioning resumed, Rebecca talked.
For six hours.
I didn't hear the interview directly.
Martinez summarized afterward.
Rebecca had known about the financial fraud.
She had helped create shell corporations.
She had signed documents.
She had transferred money.
But according to her, Robert controlled every major decision.
On the night Emily died, Robert appeared at Rebecca's apartment.
He ordered her into his truck.
“Why did she go?” I asked.
“Because he told her Emily was trying to send them both to prison.”
“They followed Emily?”
“Yes.”
“To the motel?”
“From a distance.”
“What happened after?”
“Robert confronted Emily at a gas station.”
My blood went cold.
“There wasn't anything about that in the original investigation.”
“Rebecca says Emily drove away.”
“And Dad followed.”
“Yes.”
“She says she begged him to stop.”
“Does she?”
Martinez heard the bitterness.
“She admits she did not contact police.”
“Of course.”
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Rebecca says she didn't know about the brake tampering.”
I laughed.
“Convenient.”
“She claims she believed Robert only wanted to scare Emily into surrendering the documents.”
“And when Emily's brakes failed?”
“Rebecca says she started screaming at him to stop following.”
My hands shook.
“What did Robert do?”
“Accelerated.”
I turned away.
Martinez continued.
“According to Rebecca, Robert pulled alongside Emily.”
I knew.
The video showed it.
“He shouted something through the passenger window.”
“What?”
“She couldn't remember exactly.”
“That's a lie.”
“Probably.”
“What happened next?”
“Emily's vehicle crossed the center line.”
I swallowed.
“And my father?”
“Stopped the truck.”
“What?”
“Rebecca says Robert stopped about a quarter mile ahead.”
I slowly turned.
“He went back?”
“Yes.”
My knees weakened.
“To help?”
Martinez didn't answer immediately.
“No.”
That one word hollowed me out.
“What did he do?”
“Rebecca stayed inside the truck.”
“And Dad?”
“He walked to Emily's vehicle.”
I stopped breathing.
“Was she alive?”
“Rebecca says she doesn't know.”
“That's not good enough.”
“I agree.”
“What happened?”
“Robert returned approximately four minutes later.”
“Four minutes.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Martinez looked directly at me.
“He said, ‘It's finished.’”
The world tilted.
I sat.
“Then?”
“They drove away.”
“And she said nothing.”
“No.”
“Eighteen months.”
“Yes.”
I covered my face.
There are truths you imagine you want.
Then they arrive.
And you realize ignorance had been the final wall protecting you from complete devastation.
Robert had walked to my wife's wrecked car.
Whether Emily was alive during those four minutes became the only question I could think about.
Had she called his name?
Had she begged?
Had she believed help had arrived?
Had my father looked into her face and walked away?
Or worse?
The autopsy was being reviewed.
Investigators wanted to determine whether any injuries didn't match the crash.
Meanwhile, police finally located Travis Cole.
The mechanic.
Facing evidence from the recording, he agreed to cooperate.
His statement completed another piece.
Robert had paid him to loosen a brake line.
Travis insisted Robert described it as intimidation.
“He told me the brakes would get soft,” Travis reportedly said. “He said she would take it to a shop, get scared, and stop digging.”
Except Emily did take it to a shop.
The line was repaired.
Then someone tampered with it again.
Travis denied doing the second tampering.
That meant another person had touched Emily's vehicle.
Investigators looked at access.
On the day before Emily died, her SUV had been parked at my parents' house for nearly three hours during a family dinner.
I remembered it.
God, I remembered everything.
Emily had brought pie.
Robert played with Lily in the living room.
Linda complained about the weather.
Rebecca left early.
At some point Robert went outside, supposedly to retrieve something from the garage.
Had he touched Emily's car himself?
Police now had motive.
Opportunity.
Video placing him at the crash.
The case was becoming enormous.
Yet Robert remained missing.
His passport was flagged.
Airports alerted.
Company cards frozen.
His truck was found abandoned beside a storage facility outside Savannah.
Inside the truck, investigators found blood.
Not much.
A smear beneath the passenger seat.
Testing began.
While everyone focused on Robert, another surprise emerged.
Linda turned herself in.
She arrived at the sheriff's office with an attorney and a banker box filled with documents.
My mother had kept records for twenty-two years.
Copies of checks.
Property papers.
Notes documenting threats.
Photographs of holes Robert punched into walls.
A medical report from 2009 showing Linda had fractured two ribs.
She had told us she fell down stairs.
She hadn't.
Robert had kicked her.
My anger toward her didn't disappear.
But it changed shape.
Linda had protected him.
She had failed Emily.
She had failed Lily at the birthday party.
She was also a woman who had spent decades living under coercive control.
Both truths could exist.
That was difficult.
At the hotel, Lily asked for Grandma.
I didn't know what to say.
“Grandma is talking to some people.”
“Is Grandma bad?”
My heart broke.
“No, sweetheart. People can make bad choices without being all bad.”
“Like Aunt Becca?”
I swallowed.
“Sometimes.”
“Is Grandpa bad?”
There it was.
I crouched.
“What Grandpa did was wrong.”
“He made Aunt Becca hurt me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Lily thought about that.
Then whispered, “I don't like birthdays.”
That nearly destroyed me.
I hugged her.
“We'll make new birthdays.”
“Without Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
She nodded against me.
“Okay.”
That night, police received a hit on Robert's bank activity.
A prepaid debit card purchased under a false name had been used at a motel in North Carolina.
Federal authorities moved.
By morning, they had surveillance footage.
Robert appeared at the motel desk.
Alive.
Alone.
He rented room 214.
Officers surrounded the building.
When they entered, the room was empty.
Bathroom window open.
Robert had escaped again.
But on the bed, he left a photograph.
It showed Emily holding newborn Lily.
Someone had written across Emily's face with black marker.
LIAR.
Across Lily's chest:
NEXT.
When Martinez showed me the photograph, I stopped hearing her explanation.
There was only one word in my head.
Next.
My father wasn't running anymore.
He was threatening my daughter.
May you like
And for the first time since this began, I stopped wanting answers.
I wanted Robert found before he reached Lily.
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