Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Nursery
Vanessa pressed herself against the car door, her fingernails clawing uselessly at the locked handle. A terrified scream choked in her throat.
"Get away from me! Marcus, he’s insane! Arrest him!" she shrieked, pointing wildly at Daniel.
Detective Vance didn’t reach for his gun. He simply held up a digital recorder, its screen glowing in the shadows of the rain-streaked windows.
"The burner phone you were just speaking on was cloned two hours ago by our cyber-crimes unit, Mrs. Whitmore," Vance said flatly. "Every word regarding Clara Whitmore’s vehicular homicide, the bearer bonds at JFK, and the flight to Buenos Aires was captured on a federal wiretap."
Vanessa’s breath hitched. Her gaze snapped back to Daniel.
Daniel leaned in slowly, the scent of antiseptic and hospital rain radiating from him. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't strike her. The absolute stillness in his demeanor was a thousand times more terrifying than rage.
"Did she cry?" Daniel asked softly.
Vanessa trembled, her synthetic blonde hair clinging to her sweaty forehead. "What...?"
"Clara," Daniel said, his eyes drilling into her soul. "When Julian’s hired driver rammed her car into the bridge abutment two years ago. Did she cry out for me? Or was she thinking of our six-month-old daughter at home?"
"Daniel, please..." Vanessa began to weep, dropping all pretenses of high-society poise. "Julian made me do it! He had debts with the Russian syndicates. He swore that if I didn't help him replace Clara and secure Nora’s trust fund, he would kill my family! I had no choice!"
"You had a choice when you held my two-year-old child over a sixty-foot drop," Daniel said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "You looked into her eyes. A baby who called you 'Mama' when her real mother was in the ground. And you shoved her off the ledge."
"I was desperate! The money was disappearing!"
"You will never see a dollar again," Daniel said. "You will never see daylight without razor wire overhead. But before Detective Vance books you into the state correctional facility for attempted capital murder and conspiracy to commit homicide... there is one person waiting to speak to you."
Daniel pulled a tablet computer from his briefcase. He pressed play on an encrypted hospital video feed.
On the screen was the intensive pediatric room at St. Jude’s. Mia sat beside Nora’s crib, feeding her a spoonful of warm broth. Nora looked into the camera lens with wide, innocent brown eyes—Clara’s eyes.
"Nora," Mia’s gentle voice sounded from the tablet speaker. "Where did the bad lady push you?"
The little girl put her tiny hand to her chest, where a dark purple bruise bloomed against her skin. "Mama V... push Nora down," she whispered, her voice innocent, broken, yet unmistakable. "Nora fly. Daddy catch."
Nora then pointed a tiny finger directly toward the camera. "Bad Mama go bye-bye."
Daniel switched off the tablet. The silence in the car was suffocating.
"Even a two-year-old knows justice, Vanessa," Daniel said. "Take her away, Vance."
May you like
Vance stepped out, opened the rear door, and dragged a weeping, thrashing Vanessa out into the pouring rain, slamming her against the wet hood of the car as the cold steel handcuffs snapped around her wrists.
***
