Chapter 6 - The Woman in the Photograph
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the words from Sarah's windshield.
Margaret Whitmore was never supposed to survive.
What had happened twelve years ago?
And why would anyone want me dead now?
Detective Brooks arranged additional security while her team searched for Sarah.
Dr. Collins assured me that my condition was serious but that the surgical team was preparing a treatment plan.
“We need to remove the mass,” she explained. “It's placing pressure on your organs.”
“Will I survive the operation?”
“We'll evaluate every risk carefully. Your age makes surgery more complicated, but doing nothing could be dangerous.”
Daniel held my hand.
“We'll get through this, Mom.”
I wanted to believe him.
At seven the next morning, Detective Brooks returned carrying an old photograph.
“We found this in records recovered during the original Bellwether investigation.”
She placed it on the table.
Five people stood in front of a building.
I recognized Dr. Voss immediately.
Beside him stood a younger Robert.
My heart nearly stopped.
He was smiling.
Wearing his favorite brown jacket.
The same jacket he had worn when he drove me to the clinic.
But Robert wasn't the only familiar face.
A much younger Sarah stood near the entrance.
And beside her was a woman I recognized from family gatherings.
Sarah's mother, Evelyn Price.
Evelyn had died six years earlier.
“What was Evelyn doing there?” I whispered.
Daniel stared at the photograph.
“She worked in medical administration.”
“At Bellwether?”
He nodded slowly.
“She never told me that.”
Detective Brooks pointed toward the fifth person.
“Do either of you recognize this man?”
He was tall, thin, and wearing a gray suit.
I shook my head.
Daniel leaned closer.
Then he went pale.
“That's Arthur Price.”
“Who is Arthur Price?” I asked.
“Sarah's uncle.”
The man who owned the blue house.
Suddenly, the detective's phone buzzed.
She read the message, then looked at Daniel.
“We searched the property you mentioned.”
“The blue house?”
“Yes.”
“Did you find Sarah?”
“Not yet.”
I watched her expression.
There was something she wasn't telling us.
“What did you find?” I asked.
Detective Brooks placed another photograph on the table.
It showed a basement containing old medical equipment, filing cabinets, and a rusted examination chair.
My breath caught.
I recognized that chair.
I had sat in one exactly like it twelve years earlier.
Then the detective showed us a second photograph.
On the basement wall, someone had written a name in black marker.
MARGARET WHITMORE.
May you like
Beneath it were three words.
FINAL SUBJECT REMAINING.
