The phone should have been dead beneath six feet of wet garbage, but when it chirped from under a broken cabinet, I had no idea the man on its screen was about to rise from the grave—and drag six stolen years of my life back with him.
Chapter 2
Daniel came to my shack carrying two coffees and a folder thick enough to make my stomach tighten.
“His name is Victor Roman now,” he said. “At least that’s the name he’s using.”
I stared at him.
Daniel continued. “He’s been living in Portland for almost three years. The woman in the video is Madison Blake. Her father owned commercial properties throughout Oregon and Washington. He died two years ago.”
“And Victor married her for the money.”
“I think Victor marries women for whatever he can take from them.”
Daniel opened the folder.
My old case had bothered him almost immediately. There had been no body, no confirmed death scene, and no independent witness who saw me harm Victor. Several neighbors gave statements with nearly identical wording. A forensic report that should have documented the quantity and distribution of blood was mysteriously incomplete.
“Somebody pushed your case through fast,” Daniel said.
“I told everyone that.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” My voice sharpened. “I told my lawyer. I told the detective. I told the prosecutor. I told the judge. They looked at me the same way that officer at your front desk did.”
Daniel did not defend them.
That helped more than an apology would have.
He turned another page.
“There are financial transfers connected to your mother-in-law.”
“Helen?”
“Large ones. Several months before Victor disappeared.”
I felt sick.
Helen had testified against me.
She had cried before the jury and called Victor her only child. She told them I resented him because I could not give him children. She claimed I had once threatened to make him disappear before allowing him to leave me.
All lies.
But grief had made her convincing.
“Where is she?”
“Arizona. Comfortable retirement community outside Scottsdale.”
“With what money?”
Daniel looked at me.
I already knew.
Mine.
Within a week, investigators began tracing Victor’s aliases. Daniel discovered two previous relationships that had ended strangely. In one case, Victor had borrowed heavily against a woman’s house before disappearing. In another, a wealthy widow had discovered missing funds only after he was gone.
This wasn’t a single betrayal.
It was a profession.
Daniel arranged to meet Victor while posing as a private investigator representing someone interested in Madison Blake’s financial affairs.
I hated the plan.
“He knows what you look like now.”
“He doesn’t know who I am.”
“He tried to send me to prison forever. You think he’ll hesitate with you?”
Daniel almost smiled. “Occupational hazard.”
Two days passed.
Then three.
On the fourth morning, someone from the department found me at a shelter.
“Detective Carter’s in the hospital.”
I was out the door before the woman finished speaking.
Daniel had a bandage above his temple, bruising along his jaw, and the irritated expression of a man who disliked being horizontal.
“What happened?”
“Victor happened.”
I pulled a chair closer.
Daniel explained that Victor had become suspicious during their second meeting. He first offered money for Daniel’s silence. When Daniel refused, Victor attacked him in a parking garage with a metal flashlight.
“He made one mistake,” Daniel said.
“Only one?”
“He talked first.”
Victor had bragged about having friends in law enforcement, about knowing how evidence disappeared, about making difficult women look unstable.
Daniel’s recorder captured enough to justify a broader investigation.
More importantly, police now had probable cause to search Victor’s Portland apartment.
They found forged identification.
Sedatives.
Financial documents involving Madison.
And photographs of me taken during the months before Victor’s disappearance.
He had been planning my destruction long before I demanded a divorce.
That realization hurt more than the affair ever had.
I had remembered the final months of our marriage as a relationship deteriorating.
Victor had experienced them as preparation.
Police arrested him the following evening.
Helen was taken into custody in Arizona two days later.
But Daniel insisted that I confront Victor only if I wanted to.
“I do.”
“You don’t owe him anything.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because for six years, he was the last person who got to define what happened to me.”
Daniel studied my face.
“Not anymore.”
Before the interview, he took me to a woman he knew who volunteered with a reentry program. She cut my hair, found me clean clothes, and replaced my cracked glasses with a donated pair.
When I looked in the mirror, I did not see the old Martha.
I did not want to.
That woman had trusted too easily.
I saw somebody thinner, older, and harder around the eyes.
But she was standing.
That was enough.
Victor was already seated when I entered the interrogation room.
His smirk disappeared.
“Martha.”
“Hello, Victor.”
He recovered quickly.
“Prison agreed with you more than I expected.”
I sat across from him.
“Being dead agreed with you.”
For the first time, he looked uncertain.
Daniel stood near the wall.
I placed a photograph from Victor’s wedding on the table.
“Tell me about the blood.”
Victor leaned back.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“The blood in our bedroom.”
“Ask the police.”
“I am.”
He looked toward Daniel.
“You really believe her?”
Daniel’s expression did not change.
Victor smiled.
That smile had once convinced me to marry him.
Now it looked like what it was.
A tool.
“You were always too serious, Martha,” he said. “Even before prison. Everything had to have rules. Everything had to mean something.”
“You drugged my champagne.”
His eyes flickered.
That was enough for me.
“You cut yourself, didn’t you?”
Silence.
“You needed real blood. Yours would match the supposed victim because you were the victim.”
Victor’s expression shifted.
Pride began fighting caution.
Men like Victor could hide guilt more easily than superiority.
“You think you’re clever now?”
“I think you were never as clever as everyone believed.”
That did it.
He leaned forward.
“One pill in champagne. That’s all it took. You were unconscious before midnight.”
Daniel’s eyes sharpened.
Victor kept going.
“I didn’t need gallons of blood. People see enough red and their imaginations finish the job.”
My hands went cold.
“And the knife?”
“A little blood. A towel. Your fingerprints were already all over the house.”
“You framed me.”
“You wanted a divorce.”
“So?”
His face hardened.
“So you were going to take everything.”
“My family owned everything.”
“Exactly.”
There it was.
Not anger.
Ownership.
I thought about all the years I had asked why.
Now I finally understood.
Victor had not destroyed me because I had failed as a wife.
He destroyed me because I was no longer useful as one.
Then I asked the question that had haunted me even before prison.
“Why couldn’t I get pregnant?”
Something almost playful entered his eyes.
Daniel straightened.
“Victor.”
But Victor was enjoying himself now.
“I never wanted children.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing dramatic.”
“What did you do?”
He smiled.
“You were always taking vitamins and supplements. Always trying something new.”
I understood before he finished.
“No.”
“Small doses. Over time.”
I could barely breathe.
“You poisoned me.”
“Don’t be theatrical.”
Daniel moved forward.
“That’s enough.”
Victor laughed. “You think she was some innocent saint? She had the money. The company. The house. The name. I was supposed to walk away with nothing?”
Daniel looked toward the mirrored glass.
The door opened.
Two officers entered.
Victor’s smile disappeared.
Daniel leaned toward him.
“You’ve admitted to drugging your wife, fabricating evidence, conspiring to cause a wrongful conviction, and intentionally administering substances without her consent. This interview has been recorded from the moment you walked in.”
Victor stared at him.
Then he looked at me.
For the first time since I had known him, Victor Ellison looked afraid.
