PART 8 — MARGARET CAME BACK
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Wesley looked at the officer like he had spoken in another language.
“What did you say?”
The officer repeated it.
“A woman upstairs says she’s Margaret Ellis.”
Wesley’s face went completely pale.
“That’s impossible.”
Officer Ramirez studied him.
“You said she was alive.”
“I said I believed she was alive.”
“That’s different.”
“I never knew where she was.”
The officer glanced toward the stairs.
“She specifically asked for Wesley Grant.”
My stomach tightened.
Margaret had disappeared eighteen months ago.
Her car had been found abandoned.
Her evidence hidden.
Her name connected to everything.
And now she had simply walked back into the same building?
Charles gave a humorless laugh from beside the paramedic.
“No.”
Everyone looked at him.
“That’s not Margaret.”
Ramirez narrowed her eyes.
“How would you know?”
“Because if Margaret were alive, she wouldn’t walk through the front door.”
Wesley turned toward him.
“You said you didn’t know where she was.”
“I don’t.”
“Then stop talking like you know her.”
Charles leaned forward.
“I know what she was afraid of.”
“And what was that?”
Charles looked toward the officers.
“All of you.”
The basement fell silent.
Ramirez’s face hardened.
“You need to be careful.”
Charles gave a bitter smile.
“That letter says exactly what I’m saying.”
He nodded toward Emily’s note.
“There was someone inside the investigation helping Westbridge.”
Ramirez’s expression didn’t change, but I noticed her jaw tighten.
“You’re suggesting the police are compromised.”
“I’m saying Emily believed they were.”
“Emily died three years ago.”
“Yes.”
“And Margaret disappeared eighteen months ago.”
“Yes.”
“Then whoever was involved may not even be here anymore.”
Charles shook his head.
“Or they’re still here.”
I suddenly became very aware of every officer standing around us.
Wesley noticed too.
His eyes moved from face to face.
Ramirez saw it.
“Enough.”
She pointed to the officer.
“Who is upstairs with this woman?”
“Chen and Patel.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Did she have identification?”
“She showed a driver’s license.”
“Current?”
“Yes.”
Ramirez looked at Wesley.
“You’re staying here.”
“No.”
“That’s not a request.”
“If it’s Margaret—”
“We don’t know that yet.”
Wesley clenched his jaw.
Ramirez turned to me.
“You stay too.”
I almost laughed.
“I seem to hear that a lot today.”
“I mean it.”
Then she and two officers went upstairs.
The basement suddenly felt too quiet.
Wesley paced despite his injured knee.
I watched him.
“You really didn’t know she was coming?”
“No.”
“You didn’t contact her?”
“No.”
“How did she know you were here?”
“I don’t know.”
Charles laughed again.
Wesley spun toward him.
“What?”
“You’re asking the wrong question.”
“What should I be asking?”
“Why now?”
That silenced everyone.
Charles continued.
“Margaret stayed hidden for eighteen months.”
He pointed toward the ceiling.
“Then the exact day Bell gets arrested and Emily’s evidence box is opened, she appears?”
My skin prickled.
“You think someone sent her.”
“I think somebody wants her here.”
“Why?”
Charles looked at the recorder in my hand.
“To finish what they started.”
Wesley stepped closer.
“Who?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t have spent the last three years looking over my shoulder.”
I stared at him.
“You were afraid too.”
Charles looked away.
“Fear doesn’t make me innocent.”
At least he admitted that.
Then footsteps came down the stairs.
Ramirez appeared.
Alone.
Wesley moved immediately.
“Is it her?”
Ramirez stopped in front of him.
“Yes.”
Wesley’s face crumpled.
He grabbed the edge of the table.
“You’re sure?”
“She gave details only Margaret Ellis would likely know.”
“Likely?”
“We’re confirming fingerprints.”
“Let me see her.”
“Not yet.”
“Ramirez—”
“Wesley.”
Her voice softened slightly.
“She’s terrified.”
That stopped him.
“What happened?”
“She says she won’t speak unless she sees you.”
“Then let me go.”
Ramirez hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Only you.”
I stepped forward.
“No.”
Everyone looked at me.
“I’m involved too.”
Ramirez shook her head.
“Audrey.”
“She had files about my apartment.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“She disappeared because of Unit 3B.”
Margaret’s voice came from the stairs.
“She’s right.”
My whole body went cold.
A woman stood at the bottom step.
Gray hair.
Thinner than in the old photographs.
Older somehow.
But I recognized her.
The woman with the little white dog.
Margaret Ellis.
Wesley stopped breathing.
Margaret looked at him.
For one second, neither spoke.
Then Wesley whispered, “Margaret.”
Her face broke.
“Oh, Wesley.”
He crossed the basement in three steps and hugged her.
She clung to him.
Not politely.
Desperately.
Like someone holding onto the only person who understood the nightmare she had survived.
Wesley pulled back.
“I thought you were dead.”
“I know.”
“I looked for you.”
“I know.”
“Where were you?”
Margaret looked around at the officers.
Then at Charles.
Her expression changed instantly.
“You.”
Charles lowered his eyes.
Margaret took a step backward.
“Get him away from me.”
Ramirez moved between them.
“He’s being detained.”
“He should be in handcuffs.”
Charles didn’t argue.
Margaret stared at him.
“You helped them.”
Charles whispered, “I know.”
“You followed us.”
“Yes.”
“You told Bell where we were.”
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
Wesley touched Margaret’s shoulder.
“Tell me what happened.”
Margaret’s eyes filled.
“You really don’t remember?”
Wesley frowned.
“Remember what?”
She stared at him.
“The night we ran.”
“I remember Bell attacking us.”
“And after?”
“I remember getting in your car.”
“And?”
Wesley rubbed his forehead.
“I remember blood.”
Margaret nodded.
“Your hand was cut badly.”
“I remember driving.”
“No.”
Wesley looked at her.
“What?”
“You didn’t drive.”
He froze.
“I did.”
“No.”
“I remember—”
“I drove.”
Margaret stepped closer.
“You were barely conscious.”
Wesley looked confused.
“You told police I disappeared alone.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
Margaret looked around the room.
“Because somebody was waiting for us.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
I asked.
“At the motel.”
“What motel?”
“The place Wesley told me to drive to.”
Wesley shook his head.
“I don’t remember a motel.”
“You gave me the address.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“When?”
“In the car.”
Margaret’s expression changed when she saw his confusion.
“You really don’t remember.”
Wesley looked shaken.
“What happened there?”
Margaret swallowed.
“When we arrived, there was already a man inside the room.”
Ramirez stepped closer.
“Who?”
Margaret looked at her.
“I never knew his name.”
“Describe him.”
“Tall. Heavy build. Maybe fifty.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Her voice became quieter.
“He had a police badge.”
Every officer in the room went still.
Ramirez asked, “What department?”
“I didn’t see it clearly.”
“What happened?”
“He told us he was there to help.”
“And you believed him?”
“At first.”
Margaret looked at Wesley.
“Wesley was bleeding. I was terrified.”
She rubbed her hands together.
“He said he could get us into witness protection.”
Wesley whispered, “Witness protection?”
“That’s what he called it.”
“What did he want?”
“The documents.”
Of course.
Margaret continued.
“He said we couldn’t carry evidence with us because Westbridge would track it.”
Charles muttered, “That was a lie.”
Margaret looked at him.
“I know that now.”
“What happened next?” Ramirez asked.
Margaret took a breath.
“I gave him one folder.”
Wesley frowned.
“Why only one?”
“Because I didn’t trust him.”
A tiny smile appeared through her fear.
“So I gave him copies.”
“What did you do with the originals?”
Margaret looked directly at me.
“I hid them.”
My stomach dropped.
“Where?”
“In 3B.”
My apartment.
Again.
I whispered, “In the wall?”
She nodded.
“The metal compartment.”
“But the photographs showed it was emptied.”
“That was after.”
“What do you mean?”
“I moved the documents first.”
“Where?”
Margaret hesitated.
Then said, “Somewhere Bell never checked.”
Wesley leaned closer.
“What happened to the police officer?”
Margaret’s face went pale.
“He realized the folder was incomplete.”
“And?”
“He became angry.”
“How angry?”
“He pulled a gun.”
Silence.
Wesley stared at her.
“What happened?”
“You tried to stop him.”
Wesley instinctively touched his head.
Margaret noticed.
“He hit you.”
“My knee?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Your head.”
I remembered how Wesley had struggled with parts of that night.
How he insisted he drove.
How pieces didn’t line up.
“You had a head injury.”
Margaret nodded.
“He struck Wesley with the gun.”
Wesley whispered, “Why don’t I remember that?”
Margaret’s eyes filled.
“You were unconscious.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough.”
“Long enough for what?”
She looked at the floor.
“For him to put you in another car.”
Wesley went still.
“What?”
“He told me you were dead.”
His mouth opened.
“He said he killed you.”
Margaret’s voice broke.
“I believed him.”
Wesley looked devastated.
“He separated us.”
“Yes.”
“Where did he take me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how did I end up back at work two days later?”
Margaret stared at him.
“I’ve asked myself that for eighteen months.”
Ramirez immediately turned to Wesley.
“What do you remember from those two days?”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Nothing clear.”
“Nothing?”
“Hospital lights.”
Everyone looked at him.
“I thought they were from my knee injury.”
Margaret shook her head.
“That happened later.”
Wesley stared at her.
“What?”
My heart started pounding.
“Your loading dock fall,” I said.
“That was after Margaret disappeared?”
Charles answered.
“Six weeks after.”
Wesley looked sick.
“So my head injury came first.”
“Yes,” Margaret said.
“And nobody told me.”
“No.”
Ramirez’s face had changed.
She was putting pieces together.
“If someone inside law enforcement assaulted you and then returned you without a report…”
Charles finished the thought.
“They erased it.”
Margaret nodded.
“That’s why I ran.”
“Where did you go?” Wesley asked.
“My daughter helped me.”
“In Oregon?”
“Yes.”
“She knew?”
“Not everything.”
“Why didn’t you contact police?”
Margaret looked toward Ramirez.
“Because every time I tried, somebody knew before I finished making the call.”
Ramirez frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“The first time, I called a county detective.”
“And?”
“Within twenty minutes, someone from Westbridge called my daughter.”
Charles looked stunned.
“Who?”
“Bell.”
Ramirez’s face hardened.
“And the second time?”
“I used a different phone.”
“What happened?”
“A man came to the house that night.”
“Who?”
“The same officer from the motel.”
Silence.
“Did he threaten you?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Margaret swallowed.
“He said Wesley was alive.”
Wesley looked at her.
“And?”
“He said if I ever came back, Wesley would die for real.”
Wesley’s eyes closed.
Margaret whispered, “So I stayed gone.”
Nobody spoke.
Then I asked the question that had been burning inside me.
“Why did you come back today?”
Margaret looked at me.
“Because last night I got an email.”
“From who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did it say?”
She reached into her coat and removed a folded printout.
Ramirez took it.
The message contained only three lines.
BELL HAS LOST CONTROL.
EMILY’S BOX WILL BE FOUND TOMORROW.
IF YOU WANT WESLEY ALIVE, COME BACK.
Wesley stared at it.
“They knew about Emily’s box.”
Margaret nodded.
“Before we opened it,” I whispered.
Ramirez’s expression darkened.
“That means someone knew what was in this basement.”
Charles looked toward the ceiling.
“Or someone knew what the police were about to find.”
Every officer became very still.
Margaret suddenly grabbed Wesley’s hand.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“The motel officer.”
“What about him?”
“I finally learned his name.”
Ramirez moved closer.
“Tell me.”
Margaret looked at every officer in the room.
Then she shook her head.
“No.”
“Margaret.”
“I’m not saying it here.”
“Why?”
“Because one of you might call him.”
Ramirez’s face tightened.
“I’m trying to help you.”
Margaret stared at her.
“I believed that once.”
Nobody moved.
Then Margaret reached into her coat again.
She removed a small photograph.
Old.
Creased.
Taken from far away.
A man was standing beside Bell near the apartment building.
The image was blurry.
But I could still see his face.
Ramirez looked at it.
Then suddenly went pale.
Wesley noticed.
“You know him.”
Ramirez didn’t answer.
“Who is he?”
Margaret watched her carefully.
Ramirez stared at the photograph for several seconds.
Then whispered one word.
“No.”
“What?” I asked.
She looked toward the basement stairs.
Then at the officers beside her.
“Lock the building.”
One of them frowned.
“Why?”
“Now.”
Her voice sharpened.
“Lock every entrance.”
Everyone started moving.
Wesley grabbed her arm.
“Ramirez, who is he?”
She looked at him.
“The man in this photograph is Captain David Mercer.”
My stomach tightened.
“Captain?”
Ramirez nodded.
“He supervised the original Margaret Ellis investigation.”
The room went silent.
Margaret whispered, “He was the man at the motel.”
Ramirez stared at the stairs.
Then her radio crackled.
A voice came through.
“Captain Mercer just arrived.”
Margaret’s hand closed around Wesley’s.
Ramirez slowly reached for her weapon.
And from upstairs, a man called down,
“Ramirez?”
Her face lost all color.
The voice continued.
“I heard we found Margaret.”
Margaret whispered,
“That’s him.”
CONTINUE READ NEXT PART… 👇
