The notary public, possessing the survival instincts of a cornered rabbit, slowly backed out of the room, his cheap shoes squeaking on the linoleum before he vanished down the corridor entirely.
“Mr. Howard,” Clayton began, not offering a chair. “I need you to clarify a chronological discrepancy for my incident report. How did you manage to arrive at the Willow Creek property at precisely 2:11 AM?”
Silence. Only the hum of the monitors filled the void.
“Your residence is an eighteen-minute drive in optimal conditions,” Clayton pressed, stepping closer. “Yet you arrived five minutes after the initial 911 call was dispatched. You beat my engine company. How is that physically possible?”
Gerald’s mouth opened and closed like a suffocating fish. “I… I couldn’t sleep. I was driving around. Clearing my head.”
“At two in the morning?” Elaine arched an eyebrow. “On a random Tuesday? You were just casually cruising through your daughter’s specific suburban subdivision?”
“I saw the smoke!” Gerald barked, his voice cracking. “I saw the smoke from the highway!”
“Through two miles of dense pine trees and residential zoning?” Clayton countered effortlessly. He pulled up the tablet. “Let me show you what the smoke left behind, Gerald.”
Clayton flipped the screen to face my parents. He swiped through the grisly photos of the three V-patterns. “You spent thirty-five years underwriting insurance claims, Mr. Howard. You know exactly what a multi-point origin indicates. You know electrical faults don’t spawn in three corners at once.”
Judith let out a pathetic, trembling gasp. “What… what does that mean?”
“It means your son-in-law was murdered, Mrs. Howard,” Elaine stated, her eyes locked on my mother. “With two gallons of mineral spirits purchased from Benson’s Hardware on November 16th. By your husband.”
Elaine slid the copy of the receipt across the tray table. Judith stared at the timestamp, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle a scream. “Gerald?” she whimpered, backing away from him as if he were radioactive.
Gerald remained mute, his eyes darting frantically toward the window, looking for an escape that didn’t exist.
“Let’s review the digital footprint,” Clayton continued mercilessly. “At 11:58 PM, you texted Aaron to confirm he was alone on the property. Aaron was wearing heavy, noise-canceling earmuffs to operate his industrial sander. He was utterly vulnerable. He wouldn’t have heard the door open. He wouldn’t have smelled the fumes until the conflagration had already sealed both exits.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, a tear hot and heavy sliding down my cheek. I pictured Aaron, focused on his craft, the sudden terrifying heat, the realization of betrayal.
“The accelerant burned incredibly fast,” Clayton said softly, glancing at me with deep sorrow. “Aaron succumbed to smoke inhalation rapidly. He didn’t suffer the flames. That is the only mercy I can offer you.”
Judith collapsed into the visitor’s chair, her sobs wracking her frail frame.
“But we aren’t finished,” Elaine said, her tone hardening into steel. “The fire didn’t stop at the workshop. We found heavy concentrations of mineral spirits poured across the threshold of the primary residence. Specifically, leading into the master bedroom.”
The blood in my veins turned to ice. My bedroom. Elaine looked directly at me. “Your father didn’t just want to stage a tragic workshop accident. He saturated the house. If you had not been admitted to this hospital for false labor, Rita… you would have burned in your bed.”
A collective gasp sucked the air from the room.
“You tried to kill her?” Judith shrieked, launching herself out of the chair, her fists pounding against Gerald’s chest. “You tried to kill our daughter?!”
Gerald caught her wrists, his face contorted in a grotesque mask of panic and rage. “I was trying to save us!” he roared, his voice echoing off the sterile walls. “The payout would have set us up for the rest of our lives! Both of you would have—”
He stopped. The echo of his own words hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
Both of you.
Clayton slowly lowered his tablet. Elaine unclipped the handcuffs from her belt. A recorded, verbal admission of intent.
“Gerald Howard,” Elaine announced, stepping forward and swiftly securing his wrists behind his back. The metallic click-clack was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. “You are under arrest for first-degree murder, felony arson, insurance fraud, and the attempted murder of your daughter.”
As she read him his Miranda rights, my father finally looked at me. His arrogant facade had melted away, leaving a pathetic, terrified old man.
“Rita,” he begged, his voice a pathetic whine. “You’re doing this? To your own flesh and blood?”
I adjusted Owen in my arms, ensuring his delicate neck was supported. I looked my father dead in the eye, feeling nothing but a vast, frozen wasteland where my love for him used to reside.
“You burned my husband alive,” I said, my voice eerily calm, cutting through his panic. “You are not my father. You are just the man who is going to die in a cage.”
Chapter 5: Out of the Embers
The hallway was lined with nurses, orderlies, and patients holding up smartphones as Detective Elaine marched Gerald Howard out of Room 3B. He was paraded through the maternity ward, a murderer among the newborn. He tried to look back at me one last time, but I turned my head, denying him even the comfort of my hatred.
The heavy door clicked shut, leaving me alone with Owen, and a hyperventilating Judith.
A nurse rushed in to administer oxygen to my mother, who was crumpled in the chair, weeping hysterically. Elaine returned a moment later, her expression businesslike.
“Mrs. Howard,” Elaine addressed my mother. “We will need your formal statement regarding your knowledge of these events. You have the right to counsel.”
“I’ll tell you everything,” Judith sobbed, her makeup running down her face in dark, muddy rivers. She crawled toward my bed, clutching at the hem of my blanket. “Rita, I swear to God I didn’t know. I thought it was an accident. I didn’t know he lit the match!”
I looked down at her. “I believe you.”
She exhaled a ragged breath of relief. “Oh, thank God. Rita, I love you so much—”
“But you knew I was alone,” I interrupted, my voice devoid of inflection.
Judith froze.
“You didn’t know about the murder,” I continued, staring at the ceiling. “But you knew my husband was dead. You knew my house was gone. And you waited ten days to visit me. You came in here today, before you knew the police were coming, and you told me I was a burden. You told me I was never your responsibility. You watched me bleed, holding your orphaned grandson, and you told me to leave.”
“I was just following Gerald’s lead, I was scared of him—”
“You made a choice,” I stated firmly, looking back into her terrified eyes. “Whether Dad killed him or not, you decided that I didn’t matter. You chose his money and his comfort over my survival.”
“Please, Rita…”
“Get out,” I whispered. It wasn’t a yell; it was an eviction notice from my life. “I am making my choice now.”
