Chapter 8 - The Paper Trail of Blood
Twenty minutes later, the flashing red and blue lights of five police cruisers illuminated the long driveway of the Sterling estate.
Chief of Police Thomas Miller, a longtime friend of Arthur who had personally investigated Clara’s crash four years ago, walked into the grand library accompanied by three state forensic detectives.
Daniel sat handcuffed on an antique armchair, staring at the floor in catatonic silence. Victoria was on the opposite sofa, hysterically screaming at her personal defense attorney over speakerphone until a female officer confiscated the device.
Arthur placed the black burner phone, the thumb drive, and the printed salvage shop receipt on the library table before Chief Miller.
“Thomas,” Arthur said, his voice steady, devoid of sentiment. “The crash at Devil’s Ridge wasn’t mechanical failure. It was premeditated murder. The mechanic’s signature is on that receipt. The text messages on that encrypted phone detail every step of the planning between Daniel and Victoria.”
Chief Miller picked up the receipt, his jaw tightening as he read the names and dates. Four years ago, the crash had bothered him—the lack of skid marks, the strange shear pattern on the rear hydraulic line—but with Daniel pushing for a closed investigation and the insurance companies settling without contest, the case had been shelved.
“We ran the mechanic’s alias through the state database on the way here, Arthur,” Chief Miller said gravely. “A man named Marcus Vance—no relation to Clara, just a coincidentally named grease monkey out of Bayonne. He was arrested six months ago on an unrelated weapons charge. If we put this receipt in front of him with an offer to reduce his sentence, he’ll flip on Daniel in five seconds.”
“He won’t have to,” Detective Harris, the forensic cyber specialist, chimed in, looking up from his portable terminal where he had mounted the thumb drive. “There are audio recordings here. Daniel recorded his phone calls with the mechanic to ensure he wouldn't be blackmailed later. He kept the evidence of his own murder conspiracy as an insurance policy against his accomplice.”
Victoria let out a wild, animalistic shriek. She lunged across the coffee table toward Daniel, her fingernails clawing at his face.
“You coward! You recorded me?! You sick bastard, you promised me we were safe!”
“Get off me, you psycho!” Daniel screamed, twisting away in his handcuffs as two officers tackled Victoria to the rug, pinning her arms behind her back and cuffing her wrists.
“Daniel Sterling, Victoria Sterling,” Chief Miller announced, his voice ringing through the grand library with absolute finality. “You are both under arrest for conspiracy to commit first-degree murder, the first-degree murder of Clara Vance Sterling, attempted murder, and aggravated child abuse of a minor. You have the right to remain silent…”
As the officers hauled them to their feet, Daniel looked back over his shoulder toward Arthur.
“Dad! Please!” Daniel wailed, tears streaming down his face, snot running from his nose, completely broken. “I’m your son! Your only son! You can’t let them lock me away! Dad! Tell them you made a mistake! DAD!”
Arthur stood motionless, his hands resting firmly upon the head of his ironwood cane. He looked at the man he had raised, and saw nothing left of his blood.
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“I had a son once,” Arthur said, his voice echoing in the grand room like a tomb closing. “He died the night Clara went over the cliff. Take them away.”
***
