63. Chapter 63
Cate
Present
We didn’t go far.
Seth pulled into a coffee shop two blocks over, the kind with big windows, mismatched chairs and a line long enough that no one noticed anything except their own impatience. He parked crooked, killed the engine, and turned to me.
“I’ll stay close,” he said. “But I won’t sit in, not unless you want me to.”
I nodded. “Thank you.”
It mattered that he asked. That he gave me the choice.
Inside, the noise wrapped around me immediately - voices, espresso machines, laughter. Life continuing. I ordered without thought, then slid into a small table near the window, my back to the wall.
My phone buzzed again.
This time, it was the same number.
I answered.
“Cate,” Detective Marshal said. “Are you somewhere public?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’m going to say this carefully. I need you to listen, not react.”
I wrapped my hands around the paper cup in front of me, the heat grounding me, “I’m listening.”
“When I asked if you were safe,” he continued, “I wasn’t asking if anyone was going to hurt you physically. Not yet.”
My chest tightened.
“I was asking whether you were free to answer questions without interference.”
I swallowed. “I wasn’t.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
I closed my eyes briefly, remembering what Seth had told me. “Why is this happening? Why now?”
“Because something someone wanted to remain buried surfaced,” Marshal said. “And when it did, it pointed backward - not forward.”
I leaned in slightly. “Backward to when?”
“To the week John disappeared.”
My grip tightened on the cup.
“We reopened a file that should never have been closed the way it was,” he said. “It was rushed. Incomplete. Signed off without proper verification.”
“And now?” I asked.
“And now,” he said, “it looks like someone made sure it stayed that way.”
I didn’t ask who, and he didn’t say.
“Cate,” Marshal continued, “I need to be very clear with you. You are not a suspect. You never have been.”
Relief flickered briefly followed by a flash of guilt.
“But you are connected to this case in ways that make people nervous,” he added. “Not because of what you’ve done. Because of what you might ask once you start.”
I thought of Seth’s words. They’re afraid of what you’ll ask.
“What happens next?”
“That depends on you,” Marshal replied. “I can’t protect you from information you don’t want. And I can’t move forward if you’re being filtered.”
“I need time,” I said. “But I don’t want to be handled.”
“I wouldn’t have called you if I thought you did,” he said. “When you’re ready, I want to speak to you again. Alone. In person.”
I hesitated. “About… how he died.”
“Yes.”
The word echoed.
“And Cate,” he added, quieter now, “when that happens, there are things you’ll realize. About timing. About access. About who may have benefited the most from your grief.”
My stomach turned.
“I’m not telling you this to scare you,” he said. “I’m telling you because once you know, pretending not to will be the most dangerous thing you can do.”
I stared out the window, watching people pass by with drinks in their hands, unaware of how close the world could tilt.
“Okay,” I said finally. “I’ll call you.”
“I’ll wait,” Marshal replied.
The line went dead.
I sat there for a long moment after, breathing through the noise, through the weight, through the understanding settling into my bones.
John hadn’t disappeared.
He’d been erased.
And someone had built a life for me on top of that erasure - carefully, deliberately - until I forgot how to ask questions.
My phone lit up again, this time with a text.
Trevor: Just checking in. Let me know when you’re ready to talk.
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I opened my notes app and typed a single line.
Questions I’ve never been allowed to ask.
Below it, I added the first one.
Who closed the case?
Then I sat back, coffee cooling in my hands, and understood something with quiet clarity.
I wasn’t running anymore.
I was preparing.