Chapter 7: The Call Emma Could Not Answer

Emma sat in Mara’s office with her coat still buttoned.

At twenty, she was our second-oldest daughter; five years earlier, she had been fifteen.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

Her eyes dropped to the floor.

“Because Aaron told me Dad was confused.”

Aaron sat behind the glass partition in the adjoining interview room.

Two state officers stood beside him.

“What exactly did Aaron say?”

Emma twisted a tissue between her fingers.

“He said Dad might call and say frightening things.

He told me not to answer because officers were handling it.”

Grace crouched beside her.

“But Dad did call.”

Emma nodded.

“Three times.”

The sound that came out of me did not feel like my own.

Lucy put both arms around my waist.

“You let me believe there was nothing else.”

“I was scared, Mom.”

“Your father was trying to reach us.”

Emma started crying.

“I know.

I’ve heard his voicemail every night for five years.”

She unlocked her phone and opened an old audio file.

Ben’s breath came through the speaker.

“Emma, sweetheart, call your mother.

The car won’t stop properly.

Aaron was at the cabin, and I think he did something.

The boys are with me.

Tell your mother I love her.”

The message ended with Ben telling our sons to fasten their seat belts.

My knees folded.

Grace and Lucy lowered me into a chair.

“He knew,” I said.

“Ben knew, and I wasn’t there.”

Emma knelt in front of me.

“Please don’t hate me.”

I held her face between my hands.

“You were fifteen.

Aaron wore a badge, and you believed him.”

“I deleted the call from my phone after the memorial.”

“Then how do you still have it?” Mara asked.

“Aaron came to our house and checked my phone.

Before he arrived, I emailed the message to myself because Dad told me to call Mom.

I couldn’t erase his voice.”

I pulled Emma against me.

She cried into my shoulder while Lucy wrapped her arms around both of us.

“I should have protected you,” I whispered.

Emma shook her head.

“No, Mom.

He used me because I was a child.”

Mara entered the adjoining room carrying a speaker.

I followed her, leaving my daughters with Grace.

Aaron looked up.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“I want you to hear what Emma saved.”

Mara played Ben’s message.

Aaron’s shoulders dropped when his own name came through the speaker.

“You told a frightened girl not to answer her father.”

“I thought Ben was bluffing.”

“You knew my sons were in that car.”

“I tried to reach him.”

“You reached Emma instead.”

Aaron leaned toward me.

“Doyle said he would destroy my family if I refused.”

“So you destroyed mine.”

“I never meant for anyone to d!e.”

“You made a choice every day for five years.”

Doyle was brought into the room in handcuffs.

He glanced at Aaron and smiled coldly.

“Tell them the truth,” Aaron said.

“You ordered everything.”

Doyle sat opposite him.

“You altered the car.

You wrote the false report.

You threatened the girl.”

“You took the money.”

“And you wanted your share.”

Mara placed the patrol logs, Ben’s recording, Helen’s recorder, and Emma’s voicemail across the table.

“Patrick Doyle, you are under arrest for conspiracy, evidence tampering, obstruction, and financial crjmes,” she said.

“Aaron, you are under arrest for the same offenses, along with charges connected to the four lives lost in that crash.”

Doyle stood as an officer took his arm.

“You still need to prove I ordered it,” he said.

Mara lifted Helen’s recorder.

“We have your voice giving Aaron instructions.”

Doyle turned toward Aaron.

“You kept that recording?”

Aaron stared at the floor.

“I needed protection from you.”

Doyle was led into the hallway.

Aaron remained behind, his hands trembling.

“Before sentencing,” he said, “I need to tell you what happened after the car left the road.”

I stepped closer to the glass.

“What else have you hidden from me?”