Chapter 15 - THE LAST WITNESS
Dr. Samuel Keene did not die naturally.
That was obvious within hours.
The preliminary examination showed the same class of cardiac compound used seventeen years earlier.
The irony was cruel.
Someone had killed the last medical witness using the same method connected to my mother.
Martin Shaw was in federal custody.
Victor Langford was under twenty-four-hour surveillance.
So who remained?
The answer appeared on Dr. Keene’s kitchen camera.
Damian.
He entered at 6:41 p.m.
Left at 7:19.
Keene was found dead at 8:02.
Police issued a warrant.
My ex-husband became a fugitive.
I refused to believe it immediately.
That surprised me.
Damian had betrayed me in almost every way possible.
But murder?
No.
He was selfish.
Arrogant.
Cowardly when ambition was involved.
He was not a killer.
At least I did not think so.
Rebecca disagreed with trusting instinct.
“Evidence.”
“I know.”
“His prints are there.”
“He knew Keene.”
“His phone was off.”
“He may have been hiding something.”
“That sentence describes half his life.”
Fair.
Then Damian called me.
Blocked number.
“Claire.”
“Where are you?”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then you’re making yourself look guilty.”
“I know.”
“Why were you there?”
“He called me.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to confess something.”
“What?”
“About Sabrina.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about her?”
“He said she lied.”
“About what?”
Before Damian answered, a sound came through the phone.
A door.
Footsteps.
Then he whispered,
“I have to go.”
“No.”
“Listen to me.”
“Turn yourself in.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“When I know who killed him.”
“You are not an investigator.”
“No.”
His voice became bitter.
“I’m apparently the idiot who gave all of them access.”
The call ended.
Police traced nothing.
Hours later, Sabrina disappeared.
Again.
This time no trick.
No Nathan.
No plan.
Her apartment showed signs of a struggle.
We found a single message on her laptop.
YOUR FATHER TALKED.
Which father?
Dr. Keene.
Or someone else?
The photograph had asked me who Sabrina’s father was.
Maybe the answer Keene gave us was incomplete.
Rebecca reopened records.
Sabrina’s birth certificate listed Samuel Keene.
But genetic records from an old medical file showed something impossible.
Her blood type could not biologically match his.
Keene was not Sabrina’s biological father.
We obtained a preserved sample from Caroline.
Maternal match confirmed.
Then compared available familial DNA databases.
A partial match appeared.
Whitmore.
My stomach dropped.
Sabrina was related to me.
We tested Nathan.
No.
My father.
No.
Andrew, obviously no.
Elizabeth.
No.
Then an archived sample from my grandfather’s estate.
Match.
Not daughter.
Granddaughter.
My grandfather had another son.
An illegitimate child none of us knew.
That child was Sabrina’s biological father.
Which made Sabrina my cousin.
And potentially a Whitmore heir.
Suddenly, the October Clause looked different again.
Victor had not only recruited my husband’s mistress.
He had recruited someone with a blood claim.
Did he know?
Did Sabrina?
Damian called again.
This time video.
His face bruised.
He appeared inside some kind of basement.
“I found her.”
The camera turned.
Sabrina sat against a wall.
Alive.
Conscious.
Angry.
“Claire,” she said.
“I didn’t know.”
“Know what?”
Damian looked at her.
Then back at me.
“Keene wasn’t killed because of what he knew about Margaret.”
“Then why?”
“Because he discovered Sabrina can claim part of the Whitmore voting trust.”
I stared.
“How much?”
Sabrina answered.
“Enough to challenge you.”
The screen suddenly shook.
A gunshot.
Damian dropped the phone.
Sabrina screamed.
Then someone picked it up.
A man appeared.
Older.
Familiar.
I had seen his face in family photographs.
But he had supposedly died thirty years ago.
My father’s older half-brother.
Jonathan Whitmore.
The man whose death made Richard and Nathan heirs.
He smiled into the camera.
“Hello, Claire.”
May you like
Then he said,
“I believe you’re sitting in my chair.”
