Chapter 6 - THE BEACH HOUSEI called 911 before leaving the driveway.
That mattered.
Not because I was thinking like a lawyer.
Because I had no idea what was happening at 18 Harbor Lantern Lane, and charging into a house where someone had just broken a window was the sort of thing people did in movies right before making their families identify a body.
The dispatcher transferred the call to Seabrook Cove police.
I gave them Lauren’s address.
Explained the break-in.
Explained that she was inside.
Then I called Marcus.
“Lauren says someone broke into the beach house.”
“What?”
“I’m driving there.”
“No.”
“I already called police.”
“Then let police handle it.”
“She’s my wife.”
“She is also a potential co-conspirator who may be manipulating you.”
I hated that he was right.
But I kept driving.
“She sounded terrified.”
“She has lied to you continuously.”
“I know what fear sounds like.”
Marcus exhaled.
“Do not enter the property unless police clear it.”
“Fine.”
“And call Keane.”
I did.
Two and a half hours later, I reached Seabrook Cove.
Police vehicles filled Harbor Lantern Lane.
Blue lights reflected across the pale beach houses.
Lauren sat on the curb wrapped in a blanket.
I pulled over.
She looked up.
For a moment, the woman staring at me wasn’t my betraying wife.
She was simply Lauren.
Hair tangled.
Barefoot.
Terrified.
I walked toward her.
She stood.
Then stopped as if she wasn’t sure whether she was allowed to hug me.
Neither was I.
“What happened?”
Her lips trembled.
“I don’t know.”
A detective approached.
“Daniel Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“Detective Sarah Nolan.”
We shook hands.
“Your wife says you called in the emergency.”
“Yes.”
“You own this property?”
I looked at Lauren.
“No.”
The detective noticed.
Lauren looked away.
“It belongs to an LLC,” I said.
“An LLC my wife controls.”
Nolan nodded slowly.
“Can we talk privately?”
Lauren’s expression changed.
“What did you find?”
The detective didn’t answer her.
That meant something.
I followed Nolan toward the driveway.
A downstairs window was shattered.
But there was no obvious forced entry at the front or rear doors.
“The intruder entered through the window?” I asked.
“We’re not certain anyone entered through it.”
I looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
“Glass pattern suggests the window may have been broken from inside.”
My stomach tightened.
“Lauren broke it?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“We found a man upstairs.”
I stared at her.
“What man?”
“Unconscious. Minor head injury.”
“Who?”
“Peter Walsh.”
The banker.
My mouth went dry.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Did Lauren hit him?”
“She says no.”
I looked toward my wife.
She was staring at us.
“Why was Peter here?”
“Your wife says she doesn’t know.”
That was almost certainly a lie.
Nolan continued.
“Mr. Walsh claims someone assaulted him from behind.”
“Who?”
“He says he never saw.”
“And why was he in the house?”
“He says he came to retrieve documents.”
“What documents?”
“That’s where things become complicated.”
She led me to the garage.
Evidence technicians were photographing boxes.
Northline boxes.
Dozens of them.
Invoices.
Original contracts.
Vendor files.
Bank documents.
Exactly what Gary said they intended to destroy.
On the floor sat a metal fuel can.
Next to it were burned papers.
Not many.
Someone had started a fire.
Someone else had stopped it.
“What happened here?” I asked.
“We believe someone attempted to destroy records.”
“Peter?”
“He denies it.”
“Lauren?”
“She denies it.”
“Evan?”
“Not here.”
That bothered me.
“Where’s Evan?”
“We don’t know.”
I called him.
Straight to voicemail.
Nolan watched me.
“You have reason to believe Mr. Cole might be involved?”
“You’re going to need a longer conversation.”
We spent nearly two hours giving statements.
I told her about the financial investigation.
The shell companies.
The loan fraud.
The forged documents.
The affair.
The beach house.
Gary’s cooperation.
By midnight, Nolan had contacted investigators already alerted by Marcus.
The financial case and tonight’s incident had just collided.
Lauren sat separately with another officer.
Eventually Nolan returned.
“She wants to talk to you.”
“About?”
“She says she’ll only tell you.”
“That’s not useful.”
“I told her the same thing.”
I walked over.
Lauren looked exhausted.
“Where is Evan?”
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“What happened?”
She looked toward Nolan.
Then at me.
“Peter came around eight.”
“Why?”
“He said Evan told him to pick up the loan documents.”
“What loan documents?”
“The originals.”
“Why?”
“Because the bank started asking questions.”
“So he came to destroy them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop.”
“I really don’t.”
“You expect me to believe that after everything?”
Her eyes filled.
“I knew about the invoices.”
“The forged lease?”
“Yes.”
“The loan changes?”
“Some.”
“The flight?”
“No.”
“Framing me?”
“No.”
I believed that part.
Not because I trusted her.
Because her reaction earlier had been too immediate.
“What about Peter?”
“He started burning documents in the garage.”
“And you stopped him?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I grabbed the extinguisher.”
“What happened upstairs?”
“I don’t know.”
“Lauren.”
“I went outside because I was afraid. Then I heard him yell. I ran back in and found him on the floor.”
“Then you broke the window?”
She shook her head.
“I didn’t.”
“Police think it was broken from inside.”
“I know.”
“Who else was here?”
She looked at me.
Fear returned to her face.
“Evan.”
There it was.
“When?”
“Earlier.”
“How much earlier?”
“About seven.”
“And?”
“We fought.”
“About the Cayman documents?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“He wanted me to leave tonight.”
“Where?”
“On the boat.”
“With the records?”
“I think so.”
“And you refused.”
“Yes.”
“He got angry.”
“Did he hit you?”
“No.”
“Threaten you?”
Lauren hesitated.
“Lauren.”
“He said I had become a liability.”
That sounded like Evan.
“What did you say?”
“That I wanted out.”
“Out of the fraud?”
“All of it.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Convenient timing.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
She flinched.
“You don’t get to discover morality after the money disappears.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to call me because Evan scared you and suddenly make me your husband again.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
She started crying.
I turned away.
For years, the easiest thing in the world had been comforting Lauren.
Now comforting her felt like betraying myself.
Nolan approached.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“Yes?”
“They found something.”
An officer handed her a plastic evidence bag.
Inside was a phone.
Not Lauren’s.
Not Peter’s.
Evan’s.
“Where?”
“Upstairs near Walsh.”
My stomach sank.
Nolan continued.
“There’s blood on it.”
“Whose?”
“We don’t know.”
Lauren whispered, “Evan was here.”
The detective’s expression hardened.
Then another officer came quickly from the driveway.
“Detective.”
“What?”
“We found the boat.”
“Where?”
“About two miles south.”
“Evan aboard?”
“No.”
“Anyone?”
The officer looked toward Lauren.
Then me.
“One person.”
“Who?”
“Robert Hale.”
Lauren’s father.
My father-in-law.
He was unconscious in the cabin.
And according to the first responder who found him, someone had tied his wrists before abandoning the boat.
Lauren looked at me in horror.
I realized something terrible.
Whatever Evan had planned was coming apart.
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And when desperate people lose control, they stop thinking about the future.
They start thinking about survival.
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