Chapter 4 - The Shadow in the Kitchen
The wailing sirens of a police cruiser pulled up outside the Parker residence twenty minutes after Ryan’s panicked call to 911.
Ryan was still sitting on the floor of the nursery, rocking back and forth in a state of shock, his designer sweater stained with dried brown residue from the carpet where his wife’s life had seemingly ended.
Detective Marcus Vance of the Metro Denver Police Department stepped into the nursery, his experienced eyes scanning the room with clinical precision. He didn't look at Ryan with pity; he looked at him like a specimen under a microscope.
“Mr. Parker,” Vance said, his voice flat, low, and authoritative. “You called dispatch reporting your wife and child missing, and a potential crime scene?”
Ryan scrambled to his feet, trembling violently, pointing a shaking finger at the floor. “Look at this! There’s blood everywhere! She’s gone! The baby is gone! Some... some intruder must have broken in while I was away in Aspen!”
Vance walked slowly across the nursery, kneeling to inspect the massive dried pool of blood near the rocking chair. He touched a crusty edge with gloved fingertips, then stood up, looking around the room without a shred of surprise.
“An intruder, Mr. Parker?” Vance asked, raising an eyebrow. “Funny thing about intruders. Usually, they leave signs of forced entry. A broken window. A forced lock. A kicked-in back door.”
Ryan blinked, swallowing hard. “Well... maybe she left the door unlocked—”
“All exterior doors and windows were double-locked from the inside when patrol officers arrived,” Vance cut him off smoothly, pulling a small notebook from his trench coat. “Furthermore, our forensic team processed your doorbell security camera. Do you know what it recorded three days ago?”
Ryan shook his head dumbly.
“It recorded you walking out of this house at 2:14 PM, shouting at your wife that you needed a break, getting into your sports car, and driving away to a luxury resort in Aspen,” Vance recited, his eyes locking onto Ryan’s. “It also recorded zero entries by anyone else between that moment and ten minutes ago when you unlocked the front door.”
A cold sweat broke out across Ryan’s forehead. “I... I was at my birthday trip! My friends can vouch for me! I didn't do anything to them!”
“You abandoned a postpartum woman hemorrhaging on a nursery floor to go drink scotch in the mountains,” Vance corrected, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. “That’s not an alibi, Mr. Parker. That’s a confession of criminal negligence resulting in potential manslaughter.”
Before Ryan could stammer out a defense, heavy footsteps echoed from the front hallway.
“Detective Vance!” called a uniform officer from the living room. “You need to see this!”
Vance and Ryan rushed out of the nursery into the hallway.
Standing by the front door was Officer Miller, holding a thick, cream-colored envelope that had been slid underneath the front mat.
Vance took the envelope, pulled out a single sheet of heavy linen stationery, and unfolded it.
Ryan peered over the detective’s shoulder, his eyes darting across the handwritten words.
“Ryan,
If you are reading this, it means you finally came back from your precious birthday trip. You left her to die on a nursery floor while you posted selfies in Aspen. You don't deserve her. You don't deserve your son.
Don't bother looking for us. We are safe. And you will pay for what you did.
— Clara.”
Ryan’s breath hitched in his throat. “Clara? Who the hell is Clara?! I don't know any Clara!”
May you like
Detective Vance folded the letter slowly, slipping it into an evidence bag with a grim, satisfied smile.
“Well, Mr. Parker,” Vance said quietly. “It looks like someone else came to this house while you were partying in Aspen. And based on this note, they took your wife and your child out of your hands permanently.”
