Chapter 7: Renata Voss
Detective Harlan was a compact man with reading glasses he never seemed to actually use, preferring instead to hold documents at arm's length and squint at them.
He had worked Area North homicide for nineteen years.
He had seen people confess to things they did not do and deny things they absolutely had done, and he had developed a reliable instinct for the difference.
He read Thomas Bell's statement twice in Julian's study that afternoon, holding it at arm's length, squinting.
"Voluntary confession," he said.
"Came to the hospital himself."
"Yes."
"Thirty-two years of service and he walked himself in." Harlan set the papers down.
"Either he's the most honorable man I've ever encountered or he knew we were going to find him anyway and decided to control the narrative."
"Does it matter which?" Julian asked.
"To the DA it might.
To me, not particularly." Harlan picked up a different page — the security log Cassandra's investigator had obtained.
"This woman.
Renata Voss."
"My attorney is sending you her last known address in Phoenix.
She's the material witness.
She was the one who physically interfered with the vehicle."
"And she's been extorting Thomas Bell for four years."
"Apparently without much success."
Harlan almost smiled.
"Criminals hiring criminals.
It never simplifies." He closed the folder.
"I'm going to need the drive your — I'm going to need Nora Bennett's drive.
The security footage."
"My attorney will deliver it this afternoon under chain of custody protocol."
"Good." Harlan stood.
"Mr.
DeLuca.
The original accident report on Claire Arden is going to be reopened.
That means this becomes a full homicide investigation.
Thomas Bell's confession covers his own actions.
Your father's role is going to require separate examination.
That may involve your family's business records."
"I've already instructed full cooperation."
Harlan studied him for a moment.
"Most people in your position would have called a different kind of lawyer first."
"I'm aware."
"All right." Harlan picked up his folder.
"One more question.
Off the record."
Julian waited.
"The little girl.
She doing okay?"
Julian looked toward the window.
Through it, the garden was visible — bare November trees, the last of the season's light going flat and gold across the lawn.
Lily was out there with Nora, crouched beside a dormant flower bed, apparently explaining something important to the stuffed rabbit.
"She's doing fine," Julian said.
Harlan followed his gaze.
He watched for a moment.
"Good," he said simply, and left.
Renata Voss was located in Phoenix forty-eight hours later.
She did not run.
According to the Phoenix detective who made contact, she seemed almost relieved — the exhausted relief of someone who had been waiting for a knock on the door for four years and had finally stopped dreading the sound.
She gave a full statement.
She named Thomas Bell.
She produced her own records — payment transfers, a burner phone with text messages, a handwritten note in Thomas's careful script that said only *the parking structure on Larimer, Thursday, before six.* She had kept everything.
She said she had kept it because she was not stupid and because she had always known that a man who would arrange one accident could arrange another.
Thomas Bell was formally charged with murd3r in the second degree, conspiracy, and attempted murd3r for the digoxin in Julian's glass.
His attorney entered a not-guilty plea at arraignment, which surprised no one.
The voluntary confession, the security footage, Renata Voss's corroborating statement, and the payment records would make the trial, if it reached one, very short.
The investigation into the late Victor DeLuca's role was opened as a separate matter.
Julian's attorneys cooperated with everything requested.
Two of Victor's former associates were subpoenaed.
The process would take months.
Julian did not try to manage it or slow it.
He had spent four years building walls.
He was done with walls.
Cassandra Vale was discharged from Northwestern Memorial on the third day.
She did not call Julian when she left.
She sent a single text message: *I've spoken to the attorney about Lily's trust.
It's structured correctly.
She'll be well protected.* Then, after a pause, a second message: *She has Claire's hands.
I noticed that night.
I thought you should know.*
Julian read both messages standing in the kitchen of the estate.
Lily was at the table behind him, eating toast and conducting a serious conversation with the stuffed rabbit about whether rabbits preferred strawberry or apricot jam.
He put his phone in his pocket.
"Apricot," he said, without turning around.
Lily looked up.
"How do you know?"
"Rabbits are very sophisticated."
She considered this with great seriousness.
Then she offered the rabbit a corner of toast with apricot jam.
"He says thank you," she reported.
Julian poured himself a coffee and sat down at the table across from her.
She looked at him with Claire's eyes — dark, direct, entirely unafraid.
"Are you sad?" she asked.
"A little," he said.
"But less than yesterday."
May you like
She nodded as though this was a satisfactory answer.
Then she went back to her toast.
