Chapter 5 - THE CONFRONTATION
The storm had returned with a vengeance by the time Elena’s unmarked cruiser and two state trooper cars pulled up to the perimeter of my lakeside property. The wind was howling through the pine trees, whipping the surface of the lake into white-capped waves.
We killed the sirens half a mile down the road.
Daniel’s blue Ford F-150 was parked at an angle near the rear of the garage, hidden beneath the low-hanging branches of an oak tree. The driver’s side door was left slightly ajar.
“Claire, stay inside the cruiser,” Elena ordered, pulling her service weapon from her holster and checking the chamber. “Do not get out until we secure the structure.”
“He’s in the study,” I said, staring at the darkened second-story window of our house. “That’s where Michael’s backup hard drives are stored.”
Elena gestured to the two state troopers. “Move in from the rear kitchen entrance. I’ll take the front. Flank the stairwell.”
The troopers nodded, drawing their sidearms and moving silently across the muddy lawn. Elena crept up the front porch steps, keying the front door lock with the emergency key I had provided her.
I sat in the front seat of the police cruiser, watching the rain stream down the windshield. But as I watched the front door, I caught a sudden flash of movement in the side mirror.
A figure was crouching behind the side shed, moving quickly away from the main house and heading down the steep, wooded path toward the boathouse.
It wasn't Elena. It wasn't the troopers.
It was Daniel. He was carrying a heavy red plastic gas can in his left hand and a yellow duffel bag in his right.
He wasn't trying to destroy the laptop in the house. He was going to burn down the boathouse—the scene of the crime—to destroy any physical impact evidence, blood spatter, or cloth fibers left on the broken wooden railing before the state crime lab could conduct a full forensic sweep.
I didn't think. I didn't wait for permission.
I popped the latch on the cruiser door, stepped out into the freezing rain, and ran down the muddy path after him.
The wind roared through the trees, swallowing the sound of my footsteps. I reached the wooden walkway leading out to the boathouse just as Daniel kicked open the double doors and vanished inside.
I stepped onto the wooden planks, my heart pounding in my throat. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a heavy metal flash-drive case—a solid, sharp-edged block of steel—holding it in my right fist like a weapon.
Inside the boathouse, the air was suffocatingly thick with the fumes of gasoline.
Daniel was splashing fuel across the floorboards, pouring it liberally over the stacks of life jackets, the boat slip, and the exact section of the outer deck wall where the railing was broken.
“You’re too late, Daniel,” I said from the doorway.
Daniel whipped around, dropping the gas can with a heavy slosh. In the dim light filtering through the rain-streaked windows, his face looked completely deranged. His clothes were soaked, his hair was matted to his forehead, and his eyes were wild with desperation.
“Claire,” he panted, taking a step backward toward the broken railing. “You shouldn't have come down here.”
“The police know everything, Daniel,” I said, stepping further into the room, blocking his only exit to the path. “We played the audio from the cloud server. We heard you. We heard her beg you to stop. We heard her break the rail.”
Daniel’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He shook his head violently. “No! No, that’s not what happened! It was an accident! I lost my temper! She was going to ruin everything! Do you know how much money I owed those people? They were going to take my business! They were going to come to this house!”
“So you forged my name,” I said, taking another step forward. “You stole my identity, you stole Lily’s future, and when she found out, you hurt her.”
“I didn't mean to push her!” Daniel screamed, his voice cracking over the sound of the rain hammering on the tin roof. “She ran! I reached for her, and the wood gave way! It was rotten! It was the house’s fault! It was your fault for not maintaining the deck!”
To hear him blame the wooden deck—to hear him blame me for the death of my child—ignited something terrifying inside my chest.
“You left her there,” I whispered, my voice dripping with pure ice. “She fell onto those rocks, and you didn't even jump in to save her. You walked inside and came up with a story about a phone call.”
Daniel reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a heavy brass road flare. He struck the cap against the ignition strike.
A brilliant, blinding red flame sputtered to life, illuminating the gasoline-soaked room in a demonic glow.
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“Stand back, Claire!” Daniel yelled, holding the burning flare over a pool of gasoline on the floor. “Get out of the doorway, or I’ll light this whole place up with both of us inside! I’m not going to prison!”
“You’re right,” I said, looking him dead in the eye, without taking a single step back. “You’re not going to prison for forgery. You’re going for murder.”
