My former supervisor at the state crime laboratory.
He answered after the second ring.
“Claire?”
His voice immediately changed.
He knew something was wrong.
“Do you remember the antique scissors I inherited from my mother?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“I need a professional opinion.”
Another pause.
“Are you safe?”
I looked at the empty office.
Then at the evidence bag sitting on my desk.
“No.”
His voice became serious.
“Send me the photos. Do not clean them. Do not touch them again.”
“I already know.”
“I know you do,” he said quietly.
That was the thing about people who understood evidence.
They never asked why you were calm.
They knew calm was often the only thing keeping someone alive.
Two hours later, Marcus called.
His voice was different.
Not surprised.
Concerned.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“The stain is not from today.”
I closed my eyes.
I knew.
But hearing someone else say it made everything real.
“How old?”
“Impossible to determine exactly without testing. But it has been exposed to air for a significant amount of time.”
I looked out the office window.
Traffic moved below.
People walked past coffee shops.
The world continued like nothing had happened.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Could that blood belong to someone else?”
A long silence followed.
“Why are you asking me that?”
Because I had seen Daniel’s face when he realized I picked up the scissors.
Because Vanessa’s confidence disappeared for one second.
Because the woman who had spent years insulting me suddenly looked afraid.
“I think they forgot those scissors existed.”
Marcus exhaled slowly.
“Claire, what happened before today?”
I told him everything.
The affair.
The hidden accounts.
The threats.
The divorce papers.
The hair.
Then I told him the one thing I had not told anyone.
“Six months ago, Daniel told everyone his business partner disappeared.”
Marcus went quiet.
“Disappeared?”
