Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
My hands trembled as I picked up the gold bracelet.
The clasp was broken. It hadn't been unhooked; it had been torn off her wrist by force.
The fire wasn't an accident to cover up a theft. It was a murder scene.
"Arthur!" I roared, my voice echoing through the steel belly of the ferry.
Passengers in nearby cars locked their doors, staring at me.
I didn't care. I started running up the metal stairwell toward the passenger deck.
I burst through the doors into the main cabin. Hundreds of people were sitting in booths, drinking coffee, looking out the windows.
I scanned the crowd.
Then I spotted them.
Near the back of the ferry, huddled in a corner booth. Mateo and Lucas.
They looked terrified.
Sitting across from them was Victoria. But Arthur wasn't there.
I sprinted toward the booth.
"Mateo! Lucas!"
"Daddy!" The boys scrambled out of the booth and crashed into my legs. I fell to my knees, wrapping my arms around them, burying my face in their hair.
"I've got you," I choked out. "You're safe."
I looked up at Victoria. Her face was bruised from where Arthur had hit her. She looked utterly defeated.
"Where is he?" I demanded.
"He went to the upper deck to make a phone call," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Alejandro, you have to get them off this boat before it leaves. He’s going to kill us all."
"Why did you help him, Victoria? Why did you cover for him for four years?"
Tears spilled over her cheeks. "Because of what he had on me. He didn't just steal from your company. I helped him do it. I authorized the transfers. When Elena found out, she confronted him. And that night... the fire..."
She reached into her purse with shaking hands.
"I didn't know he was going to kill her. I swear to God. But the day after the fire, he showed me this. He said if I ever went to the police, he’d give this to them."
She handed me a crumpled photograph.
I stared at it.
It was a security camera still from our backyard, timestamped the night of the fire.
It showed a figure pouring gasoline around the foundation of the house.
But the person holding the gas can wasn't Arthur.
It was a woman.
She was wearing Victoria’s distinctive yellow raincoat.
"You set the fire?" I whispered, feeling sick to my stomach.
"No!" Victoria sobbed. "That's not me, Alejandro! Look at her hand!"
I looked closer at the photograph.
The woman in the yellow raincoat was holding the gas can with her left hand.
On her wrist was the very same gold bracelet I had just found in the car.
My breath caught in my throat.
"That's... that's Elena's bracelet," I said.
"Arthur took my coat," Victoria cried. "He put it on a woman, gave her Elena's bracelet, and staged the photo to frame me if I ever turned on him. But Alejandro... look at her face."
I brought the photo inches from my eyes. The woman's face was partially obscured by the hood, but the jawline, the profile...
It wasn't a stranger.
May you like
It was Elena.
My dead wife was the one pouring the gasoline on our own house.
