Chapter 2 - The Name He Was Afraid to Say
At the hospital, doctors treated Ethan for severe heat exhaustion and dehydration.
Lily’s temperature was dangerously high, but she stabilized quickly.
I should have left once the police took my statement.
I did not.
My name is Daniel Mercer.
I am forty-one years old.
I own a small commercial renovation company in Phoenix.
I have no children.
Until that afternoon, I had never met Ethan or Lily.
But every time I tried to walk out of the emergency department, I remembered Ethan asking about his sister before asking about himself.
So I stayed.
Detective Maya Torres arrived just before sunset.
She questioned me for twenty minutes.
I gave her the partial plate number.
I described the man I saw near the SUV.
Tall.
Gray polo shirt.
Baseball cap.
Mid-forties.
Then she asked why Ethan called him his uncle.
“I don’t know.”
“Did he give you a name?”
“No.”
A nurse stepped into the hallway.
“Ethan is awake.”
Torres entered first.
I waited outside.
Five minutes later, she came back out.
Her expression had changed.
“He asked for you.”
“Me?”
“He says he’ll talk if you’re there.”
I entered slowly.
Ethan looked tiny beneath the hospital blanket.
His skin was pale now instead of red.
An IV ran into his arm.
Lily slept in a bassinet beside him.
I sat in the chair near the bed.
“You saved her.”
“You saved her first.”
He looked away.
Detective Torres opened her notebook.
“Ethan, who locked you in the van?”
His jaw tightened.
“My Uncle Grant.”
“Grant what?”
“Whitmore.”
“Where is your mother?”
Ethan’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know.”
“When did you last see her?”
“This morning.”
“Where?”
“At the motel.”
“What motel?”
“The Desert Sun.”
“Why were you staying there?”
Ethan looked at Lily.
“Mom said we couldn’t go home.”
“Why?”
“Because Uncle Grant found us.”
Torres exchanged a look with me.
“What did your mother say about Grant?”
“That he wanted papers.”
“What papers?”
Ethan swallowed.
“Grandpa’s papers.”
I felt the case change shape.
Torres leaned closer.
“What happened this morning?”
“Mom put Lily in the van.”
“She told me to stay with her.”
“She said she was going back into the motel room for my backpack.”
“Then Grant came.”
“What did he do?”
“He got into the driver’s seat.”
“Did your mom come back?”
“No.”
“He drove us to the shopping center.”
“He asked me where the papers were.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Then?”
“He said if I wanted to protect Lily, I should learn what happens when people lie.”
Ethan’s voice shook.
“He locked the doors.”
“Did he know how hot it was?”
Ethan looked directly at Torres.
“Yes.”
“He turned off the air conditioner first.”
The detective stopped writing.
My hands clenched.
Then Ethan whispered.
“He said he would come back when I remembered where Mom hid the folder.”
“Did you remember?”
Ethan looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
He slowly pointed toward Lily’s bassinet.
Not at the baby.
At the blanket.
Torres lifted it carefully.
Nothing.
Ethan shook his head.
“Inside.”
The nurse helped unfold the blanket.
A thin seam had been hand-stitched along one edge.
Torres cut two threads.
A plastic memory card slid into her palm.
Ethan whispered.
“Mom said if anything happened to her, I had to keep that with Lily.”
Torres stared at the card.
“What’s on it?”
Ethan’s answer was barely audible.
May you like
“Proof Uncle Grant killed Grandpa.”
