Chapter 5: The Woman on the Phone in Denver
Detective Grace Tillman was younger than her voice — mid-thirties, dark hair pulled back, a notepad already open on the table when Lawson and I walked into the small conference room at the precinct.
She stood and shook my hand with both of hers.
"Thank you for coming in, Mrs.
Collins."
"Thank you for calling."
She gestured to the chairs.
"I want to be straightforward with you.
We've been building this case without a complainant.
That limits what we can do.
With you formally on record as the property owner, everything changes."
"What do you have so far?" Lawson asked.
Tillman opened a folder.
"Eleven months ago, a mortgage broker flagged an application.
Brandon Collins attempted to take a loan against the ranch property — one point one million.
The title search came back clean on his end, but the broker had done business with your late husband years ago and something felt off.
She contacted us." Tillman slid a page across the table.
"We've been tracking the lease income since then.
In six years, the grazing leases have generated approximately four hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
None of it went to ranch maintenance.
None of it was reported to you."
I looked at the page.
Column after column of quarterly payments.
Dates going back to when Emily was still a newlywed.
"Where did it go?" I asked.
"Business accounts in Brandon's name.
Some of it into a second account we're still tracing." Tillman paused.
"Mrs.
Collins, is the name Carla Voss familiar to you?"
It wasn't.
"She's been receiving transfers from that second account.
Roughly twelve thousand a month for the past three years."
Lawson and I looked at each other.
"Who is she?" I asked.
"That's what we're still working on.
We know she's in Dallas.
We know the transfers started the same month Brandon fired Roy Hatch." Tillman closed the folder.
"We think she may be involved in the document preparation.
Possibly the connection to Gerald Fitch."
I sat with that for a moment.
"So he didn't do this alone."
"It appears not."
---
I called Emily from the precinct parking lot.
She picked up on the second ring — stronger than the day before, her voice still thin but present.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Dr.
Parker says I can leave in two days if my levels stay stable." A pause.
"Mrs.
Margaret, what happened at the police station?"
"They're moving forward.
Tillman is filing for a warrant by end of week."
Emily was quiet.
"Are they going to charge me?"
"No.
Tillman was clear.
You're listed as a victim.
The coercion evidence, the medical records, Roy's statement — it all points the same direction."
Another silence.
Longer.
"I need to tell you something," Emily said.
"Something I didn't say yesterday."
I waited.
"My parents didn't stop talking to me because they wanted to.
Brandon told me they had.
He showed me a letter — said it was from my mother.
That she was ashamed of me.
That she didn't want to hear from me anymore." Her breath caught.
"I believed him.
For six years I believed him."
I closed my eyes.
"Emily.
Your mother didn't write that letter."
"I know." Her voice broke open.
"I know that now.
But six years, Mrs.
Margaret.
Six years I thought she hated me."
"Does she know where you are?"
"No.
I don't even know if she knows I'm alive."
I got back in my car.
I found a pen in the glove compartment and wrote a name on the back of a gas receipt.
"Give me her number," I said.
"I'll call her myself."
Emily made a sound I hadn't heard from her yet.
Not crying exactly.
Something that had been held in too long.
"Her name is Carol," she said.
"Carol Reyes.
She lives in Denver."
I wrote it down.
"I'll call her tonight," I said.
"And Emily — she is going to want to hear your voice."
May you like
The line was quiet for a moment.
Then Emily said, very softly: "I forgot what that felt like."
