Chapter 19 - THE THIRD VOICE ON THE TAPE
Evan did not return upstairs immediately. He sat on an upturned crate in the basement, the damp chill penetrating his wool trousers, the weight of his entire existence collapsing around him.
For thirty-two years, he had believed himself to be the sole heir of a proud, honorable family. He had worn his father’s work clothes, tended the estate’s land, and taken pride in carrying the Whitaker legacy into a new generation for Sophie.
Everything he owned was built on the theft of his sister’s life.
"Evan," Grace said, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. It was the first time she had touched him with familial affection, and the gesture felt so natural, so quiet, that Evan had to fight back a sob. "We don't have the luxury of grieving for what happened thirty years ago. Sophie is upstairs. And Vanessa is still out there."
Evan snapped his head up. "Vanessa."
"Vanessa didn't know about me," Grace said, thinking rapidly. "Her target wasn't the inheritance. Her target was Room C."
"Why?" Evan stood up, the anger returning, hot and sharp. "What could Vanessa possibly want from a room that has been sealed since 1991?"
"The memory card," Grace reminded him. "You looked at the video of her entering Sophie's room. Did you look at the audio track?"
Evan pulled the small thumb drive from his pocket. He had plugged the memory card into a portable reader before descending into the cellar. He pulled out his rugged field tablet, plugged the adapter in, and brought up the surveillance file recorded two nights before.
On screen, the infrared footage showed the door to Sophie’s room creaking open at 2:14 AM.
Vanessa stepped inside, her movements deliberate, wearing dark trousers and soft-soled slippers. She approached the bed where seven-year-old Sophie lay curled under the quilt.
Evan watched his fiancée lean down over his daughter.
"Listen to the gain," Grace said, adjusting the volume sliders on the tablet’s audio software. She boosted the low frequencies and stripped away the background hiss of the rain.
The sound came through clearly through the tablet’s twin speakers.
Vanessa wasn't speaking to Sophie.
Vanessa was leaning toward the baseboard behind the bed, whispering down into the narrow floor vent.
*"The papers aren't in the nursery safe,"* Vanessa whispered into the vent. *"He moved them. Where did Charles put the bearer bonds?"*
Then came the response.
It was not Sophie’s voice. It was not Charles’s voice.
A dry, raspy voice rose from inside the wall, vibrating through the acoustic baffling of the vertical chase:
*"Check the desk in the greenhouse. The bottom drawer has a false bottom. If you don't bring me the bonds by tomorrow night, I will tell Evan why his wife really drowned in the pond."*
Evan’s heart stopped.
The tablet nearly slipped from his fingers.
May you like
His wife. Caroline.
The mother of Sophie, who had supposedly drowned in the ornamental pond three years ago after an accidental fall during a midnight thunderstorm.
