Chapter 7 - A Dead Man’s Photograph
The photograph was impossible.
That made everyone more careful, not less.
Detective Vargas refused to call the man Raymond.
“Facial resemblance is not identification.”
Zayden appreciated her caution while hating it.
“I know my father.”
“You know what your father looked like four years ago.”
“That’s him.”
“Maybe.”
“It is.”
Vargas looked directly at him.
“Then we prove it.”
The original death investigation was reopened quietly.
Records were pulled.
Autopsy.
Dental comparison.
Hospital history.
Death certificate.
Body release authorization.
Funeral home paperwork.
Zayden’s signature appeared everywhere.
The autopsy had been limited.
Cause of death: blunt-force trauma consistent with fall.
No DNA test.
Dental identification relied on records provided by the family dentist.
Carmen had handled those records.
Zayden felt sick.
“Who was buried?”
No one could answer.
Exhumation required legal authorization.
It took forty-eight hours.
During those two days, Carmen remained silent.
That frightened Zayden more than her attacks.
Jessica noticed.
“She knows something changed.”
“How?”
“Because she stopped calling everyone.”
Carmen had stopped issuing statements.
Stopped contacting relatives.
Stopped trying to reach Zayden through intermediaries.
Her attorney declined interviews.
Then Elaine Porter disappeared.
Her phone shut off at 6:42 on Tuesday morning.
She missed a scheduled meeting with investigators.
Police found her car at a shopping center.
Unlocked.
Purse inside.
No obvious struggle.
The brass key was gone because Zayden had it.
Everything else remained.
At 8:16 p.m., Zayden received an unknown text.
Stop digging up dead men.
He immediately forwarded it to Vargas.
Jessica stood behind him.
“Is that about your father?”
“Probably.”
Another message came.
Your father made his choice.
Zayden typed a reply.
Who are you?
Vargas stopped him before he sent it.
“No engagement.”
Then a third message arrived.
Ask Jessica about Denver.
Zayden turned toward his wife.
Her face changed.
“What happened in Denver?”
Jessica sat down.
“Nothing.”
“Jess.”
“I went there once.”
“When?”
“Before we met.”
“For what?”
She rubbed her forehead.
“My mother had a sister.”
Zayden knew Jessica’s mother died when Jessica was nineteen.
He knew almost nothing about extended relatives.
“Aunt?”
“Rachel.”
“What does she have to do with Denver?”
“She lived there.”
“Why would someone send me that?”
Jessica’s breathing quickened.
“I don’t know.”
“Did Carmen know about her?”
“Maybe.”
“Jessica.”
She stood abruptly.
“I haven’t spoken to Rachel in sixteen years.”
“Why?”
“Because my mother told me never to.”
The room went still.
Zayden forgot the message for a second.
“What happened?”
Jessica walked toward the window.
“When I was sixteen, my aunt came to our house. She and Mom fought. Rachel kept saying something about documents and a baby. Mom slapped her.”
“A baby?”
“I didn’t understand.”
“Did you ask?”
“My mother told me Rachel was unstable.”
Zayden and Jessica looked at each other.
The word landed differently now.
Unstable.
The same word Carmen used.
The same mechanism.
“Where is Rachel now?”
“I don’t know.”
They searched.
Rachel Holloway.
Denver.
Age fifty-eight.
No social media.
No recent public address.
Then Jessica remembered an old Christmas card stored in a box at their former apartment.
Police permitted Zayden to retrieve it.
The card contained a return address from Boulder, Colorado.
Sixteen years old.
Still, Vargas contacted Colorado authorities.
The address now belonged to someone else.
But county records showed Rachel had owned a small bookstore until three years earlier.
It closed after a fire.
The owner had vanished shortly afterward.
Another missing person.
Zayden looked at Jessica.
“What the hell connects your aunt to my mother?”
“I don’t know.”
The exhumation occurred the next morning.
Zayden did not attend.
He waited at home with Jessica and Olivia.
At 3:12 p.m., Vargas called.
“We have preliminary confirmation.”
Zayden stood.
“Of what?”
“The remains are not your father.”
Jessica covered her mouth.
Zayden closed his eyes.
“Who?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“How could this happen?”
“We’re investigating.”
“Then Raymond is alive.”
“It confirms only that the buried man is someone else.”
“But you saw the cabin photo.”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
Vargas remained cautious.
“We have strong reason to believe Raymond Ferris may have survived the event that was reported as his death.”
Zayden sat down.
His father was alive.
Or someone wanted him to believe he was.
Neither option felt safe.
That evening, another envelope appeared.
Not by mail.
Someone slid it beneath the front door of the rental house.
Building security showed no visitor.
Police checked immediately.
Inside was a photograph.
Jessica at seventeen.
Standing beside Rachel Holloway.
Behind them was a third woman.
Carmen Ferris.
The photograph had been taken years before Jessica ever met Zayden.
May you like
On the back was a message.
Your families met long before you did.
