Chapter 9: What the Camera Saw
Detective Rourke came to Vera's office on a Tuesday afternoon in late March.
She was in her forties, compact and precise, with the manner of someone who had learned to deliver difficult information without softening it into uselessness.
She set a laptop on the conference table and turned it to face me.
"I want to walk you through what we have," she said.
"You don't have to watch the footage if you don't want to.
I can describe it."
"Show me," I said.
The footage was grainy, shot from a high angle — a security camera mounted on the corner of a commercial building.
The timestamp read 11:51 PM.
The road was dark and wet.
You could see the glare of headlights on the asphalt.
Wyatt's truck appeared first.
I recognized it immediately — the shape of it, the particular way the rear lights sat.
My throat closed.
"Keep watching," Rourke said quietly.
Fifteen seconds later, a dark SUV entered the frame.
It was close.
Too close for a normal following distance on a wet road at night.
As the truck approached the curve, the SUV accelerated.
The truck went left.
Off the road.
Out of frame.
The SUV slowed.
Stopped briefly at the edge of the frame.
Then drove on.
Rourke closed the laptop.
Nobody spoke for a moment.
"The partial plate matches a vehicle registered to a man named Gary Sell," Rourke said.
"Sell is a former private investigator whose license was suspended in 2018 for conduct violations.
He has a documented working relationship with your father going back seven years — Raymond hired him twice for what were logged as background checks on business associates."
"Have you spoken to him?" Vera asked.
"We brought him in yesterday.
He lawyered up immediately, but before he did, he said one thing." Rourke looked at me.
"He said, 'I was hired to scare him.
Not to do what happened.' "
The conference room was very still.
"That's an admission," Vera said.
"It's the beginning of one.
His attorney shut it down fast.
But we have it on record." Rourke kept her eyes on me.
"Sabrina.
I want to be honest with you about where this goes from here.
Sell's statement, if he decides to cooperate fully, could be the link between Raymond and what happened on Route 9.
But that cooperation depends on what deal his attorney negotiates.
It may take time."
"I understand."
"The fraud charge against Raymond is separate and moves on its own timeline.
That one is solid." She paused.
"But the accident investigation — I want you to know that I'm not letting it go.
Whatever it takes."
I looked at her.
"Why?"
She held my gaze.
"Because I've read the accident report from November.
I read the original responding officer's notes.
There were things that should have been flagged and weren't.
I don't know yet if that was negligence or something else.
But I intend to find out."
I nodded.
I didn't trust my voice enough to say anything more.
Vera walked Rourke out.
I sat alone in the conference room for a few minutes.
Through the window I could see the parking lot, the gray March sky, a woman loading groceries into her car with a toddler on her hip.
Ordinary life.
Continuing.
Wyatt had loved ordinary life.
Saturday mornings with coffee and bad television.
Fixing things around the house that didn't strictly need fixing.
The way he'd whistle slightly off-key while he worked.
I let myself remember that for a moment.
Not the truck going off the road.
Not the sheriff at my door.
May you like
Just the whistling.
Then I picked up my bag and went to meet Vera in the hallway.
