Chapter 10: What Was in the Storage Unit
Ryan called Briggs back immediately.
"What did you find?"
"Enough." A pause.
"I'm going to need Diane to come in and formally identify some documents.
Can you bring her this afternoon?"
They drove to the county sheriff's office at two o'clock.
Patricia met them in the parking lot and walked in with them.
Briggs was waiting in a conference room.
On the table, inside clear evidence bags, were stacks of documents, two external hard drives, and a series of manila envelopes labeled with women's names.
One of the envelopes had Diane's name on it.
Briggs put on gloves and opened it carefully.
He laid the contents on the table one by one.
The first was the fake theft documentation Marcus had threatened Diane with — the original version, with handwritten notes in the margins showing it had been drafted and revised before filing.
The second was a printed email chain between Marcus and someone named D.
Kovar, discussing payment for services rendered at a women's shelter in Allentown.
The third was a typed document that appeared to be a list of talking points — things to say to Diane's family and friends to establish that she was emotionally unstable.
Diane looked at it for a long time without speaking.
"He wrote it down," she said finally.
"He wrote everything down," Briggs said.
"That was his mistake.
He kept records because he liked having proof that his system worked.
He used these documents to control women and to remind himself that he could." He looked at her.
"It also means we have proof."
Patricia leaned forward.
"The email chain with D.
Kovar — that's direct evidence of the shelter informant."
"We've already identified her.
She's agreed to cooperate in exchange for a reduced charge."
Diane looked at the talking points document again.
She read one line out loud, quietly.
"'Remind family members that Diane has a history of paranoid thinking.'" She set it down.
"He gave this to people.
People I knew."
"His brother received a copy," Briggs said.
"So did two of his business associates.
We've interviewed all three."
"What did they say?"
"His brother said he always thought something was wrong but didn't ask questions.
The associates said they repeated what Marcus told them because they had no reason not to." Briggs paused.
"They have reason now."
Patricia put her hand on Diane's arm.
"This is the foundation of the case.
This, combined with Kathleen Marsh's testimony and yours, is what a prosecutor needs."
"Is it enough?" Ryan asked.
"For criminal charges — yes, I believe so.
Coercive control, fraud, witness tampering with the shelter employee.
Possibly more as we go through the drives." Briggs looked at Diane.
"He is going to be arrested.
I can't give you an exact date, but it is going to happen."
Diane sat very still.
"He told me once," she said slowly, "that no one would ever believe me.
That I was the kind of woman people felt sorry for but didn't take seriously." She looked at the evidence bags on the table.
"He kept records.
He kept records of everything he did to me, and he kept them in a storage unit, and now they're sitting in evidence bags on a table in a sheriff's office." A sound came out of her that was almost a laugh.
"He outsmarted himself."
"They often do," Patricia said.
On the drive home, Diane sat in the back seat and looked out the window.
Ryan watched her in the rearview mirror.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I don't know what I am," she said.
"I keep waiting to feel something definitive.
Relief, maybe.
Or anger." She paused.
"Mostly I just feel tired."
"That's allowed."
"Is it going to get harder before it gets easier?"
Ryan thought about the honest answer.
"Probably.
The arrest, the charges, the legal process — that's all still ahead."
"But it's moving."
"It's moving."
She nodded.
Looked back out the window.
"Ryan," she said.
"Thank you for not making me feel like I had to explain myself before you helped me."
He didn't answer right away.
"You're my sister," he said finally.
"There was never going to be a version of this where I didn't help you."
They drove the rest of the way in silence.
At home, Ethan was at the kitchen table doing homework.
Caroline was making soup.
The house smelled like onions and something warm.
Diane stood in the doorway for a moment, just taking it in.
Then she sat down next to Ethan and asked him what he was working on.
"Fractions," he said mournfully.
May you like
"I'm good at fractions," she said.
He slid his worksheet across the table.
