Chapter 4 - THE DEAD MANRichard Voss had been fifty-eight years old when someone found him dead inside the office of his construction supply warehouse.
One bullet.
No forced entry.
No weapon at the scene.
Police initially believed the motive was robbery because $14,000 in cash had disappeared from a safe.
The case had gone cold.
Until a handgun appeared inside my couch.
I spent Saturday night reading everything I could legally find about Voss.
Small-business owner.
Divorced.
One adult daughter.
Twenty-nine employees.
No obvious enemies.
My father had subcontracted for Voss twice.
The second job ended badly.
There had been a lawsuit.
Dad claimed Voss refused to pay him $38,000.
Voss claimed Dad submitted fraudulent invoices.
The dispute settled quietly.
Three months later, Voss died.
I called Daniel at 11:48 p.m.
“Tell me I'm making connections that aren't there.”
“You're making connections that may or may not be there.”
“That wasn't useful.”
“It's accurate.”
“Dad hated him.”
“Lots of people hate people without murdering them.”
“And Dad somehow obtained Voss’s stolen gun?”
“We don't know that.”
“Kelsey's print is on it.”
“We know she handled the magazine. We don't know when or why.”
I leaned against my kitchen counter.
“What aren't you telling me?”
Silence.
Lawyers have different silences.
That one meant yes.
“Daniel.”
“Ballistics results are preliminary.”
My heartbeat changed.
“Tell me.”
“The weapon found in your couch is consistent with the firearm used to kill Voss.”
I closed my eyes.
“Consistent?”
“They haven't completed the final comparison.”
“But likely.”
“Yes.”
I lowered the phone.
My father had broken into my apartment demanding money.
My sister had hidden a possible murder weapon in my couch.
My mother had lied to investigators.
Everything I believed about my family was collapsing at once.
“Erin?”
“I'm here.”
“Do not contact anyone.”
“I know.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
That night, I slept for forty-two minutes.
At 6:14 a.m., someone knocked softly on my door.
I froze.
Another knock.
“Erin?”
Mom.
I approached without opening.
“What are you doing here?”
“Please.”
“Police are looking for you.”
“I know.”
“Then call them.”
“I need to tell you something first.”
I opened the door but kept the security bar engaged—newly installed after Dad destroyed the old chain.
Mom looked fifteen years older than she had five days earlier.
No makeup.
Hair unwashed.
Dark circles beneath her eyes.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where's Dad?”
“I don't know.”
That answer frightened me.
“What do you want?”
Mom began crying.
Not the dramatic crying she used when she wanted me to forgive somebody.
This was quieter.
“Your father didn't kill Richard.”
I stared at her.
I hadn't mentioned Richard Voss.
The police had not released the connection.
Mom saw my reaction and covered her mouth.
“Mom.”
She stepped backward.
“You know.”
“How do you know about Richard?”
“Erin—”
“How do you know?”
Her shoulders collapsed.
“Because I was there the night he died.”
The hallway tilted.
I unlocked the bar.
“Come inside.”
She did.
I kept the door open.
Then I called Daniel.
“Don't,” Mom whispered.
“Either Daniel comes here or I call police immediately.”
She nodded.
Forty minutes later, Daniel arrived.
Detective Reed came with him.
Mom sat at my kitchen table with untouched coffee.
Reed began recording after reading her rights and explaining she was voluntarily giving a statement.
Mom stared at her hands.
“Richard called our house that afternoon.”
“Why?” Reed asked.
“He had discovered Harold was using fake invoices again.”
Harold.
My father.
“He threatened to report him?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Harold went to talk to him.”
“You went with him?”
Mom nodded.
“I was afraid he'd do something stupid.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
She swallowed.
“When we got there, Richard was already dead.”
Nobody moved.
“The office door was open,” Mom continued. “Richard was behind the desk. Harold checked him. Then he saw the safe.”
My stomach turned.
“No.”
Mom began crying again.
“He said Richard couldn't use the money anymore.”
Dad hadn't killed him.
He had robbed a dead man.
Somehow, that didn't surprise me anymore.
“He took fourteen thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“And the gun?”
“On the floor near the desk.”
Reed leaned forward.
“Why take it?”
“Harold said if police found us there, they'd think he did it. He picked it up with a rag.”
“What happened afterward?”
“He hid it.”
“Where?”
“I didn't know.”
Reed looked at me.
“Until this week?”
Mom nodded.
“Kelsey told me.”
My jaw tightened.
“So Dad gave Kelsey a murder weapon and told her to put it in my apartment.”
“No.”
Mom looked at me desperately.
“Not at first.”
“What does that mean?”
“Kelsey found it.”
The story emerged piece by piece.
Dad had hidden Voss's gun behind a false panel inside his workshop.
Three months ago, Kelsey discovered it while searching for tools.
Dad explained enough to scare her.
Then I stopped paying the family's bills.
Dad's debts worsened.
Creditors called.
The stolen identity accounts were at risk of being exposed.
And Dad invented a solution.
Plant the gun in my apartment.
Tell police I had threatened the family.
If the firearm were traced to Voss, Dad planned to tell investigators I must have stolen it years earlier while visiting his workshop.
Every trail would point to me.
“What about my military career?” I asked.
Mom couldn't look at me.
“Harold said you'd probably lose it.”
“And you went along with that.”
“I tried to stop him.”
“You lied to police.”
“He said if I didn't, he'd tell them I helped steal the money from Richard.”
“You did help.”
“I never touched the money.”
“You spent it?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
I stood.
Daniel touched my arm.
I pulled away.
“Do you have any idea what you've done?”
Mom's voice broke.
“I was scared.”
“So you sacrificed me.”
“No.”
“You signed a statement saying I threatened to murder you.”
“He said they wouldn't arrest you. He said it would just frighten you enough to start helping again.”
I laughed.
“You believed that?”
She looked at me.
And there it was.
The answer that hurt more than everything else.
No.
She hadn't believed it.
She had simply hoped Dad was right because believing him was easier than protecting me.
Detective Reed ended the interview twenty minutes later.
Mom agreed to go to the station.
Before leaving, she turned toward me.
“Erin.”
I didn't respond.
“I'm sorry.”
I looked at the woman who had taught me to tie my shoes, packed school lunches, sat beside my bed when I had pneumonia at nine, and later helped frame me for a felony.
“I don't know what that means anymore.”
She left.
At noon, police obtained arrest warrants for Dad and Kelsey.
Kelsey was found at a friend's apartment before sunset.
Dad vanished.
His truck was discovered abandoned behind a gas station seventy miles away.
His phone had been left inside.
So had his wallet.
Police believed he had switched vehicles.
By evening, his photograph was circulating through regional law-enforcement networks.
At 9:06 p.m., I received another anonymous message.
I assumed it was Tyler.
It wasn't.
UNKNOWN:
You always thought you were smarter than me.
A second message arrived.
Your mother couldn't keep her mouth shut.
My blood turned cold.
Dad.
Then:
You destroyed this family.
I typed nothing.
His next message contained a photograph.
Captain Morrison walking toward her car outside my workplace.
Underneath it:
People around you get hurt when you refuse to listen.
I immediately called 911.
May you like
And for the first time since this began, I wasn't worried about proving my innocence.
I was worried my father was coming for me.
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