Chapter 5
They also began documenting the information I'd provided.
I gave them permission to examine the email on my phone and supplied copies of the relevant messages.
An officer asked whether Logan owned any weapons, had previously threatened me, or had access to our financial accounts.
I answered as accurately as I could.
Then he asked whether I'd ever been physically assaulted.
I hesitated.
Logan had never struck me in the face.
But there had been incidents.
He'd blocked doorways.
He'd grabbed my wrist during arguments.
Once, he'd shoved a chair so hard that it struck the wall beside me.
I'd always told myself those things didn't count because he hadn't seriously injured me.
Now, sitting across from a police officer who was taking notes, I understood how much I'd minimized.
That evening, Megan and I stayed at a hotel arranged through a victim-support service.
We didn't return to her apartment.
The police advised us to avoid predictable routines while they assessed the situation.
Our mother was informed and stayed with a relative.
I contacted my employer and explained that I needed emergency leave.
Then I sat on the edge of the hotel bed and stared at the wall.
Megan sat beside me.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Finally, she whispered, “Do you think he really wanted us dead?”
I looked at her.
“I don't know how far he intended to go.”
My voice broke.
“But I believe he was willing to let something terrible happen.”
The next morning, investigators contacted me about the vehicle.
It had been secured and examined by qualified personnel.
The preliminary findings identified an abnormal condition in the braking system that required further forensic assessment.
The investigators were careful not to tell me more than the evidence supported.
They explained that the condition was consistent with deliberate interference, but determining exactly what had happened and who was responsible would require additional examination and corroborating evidence.
I listened while my hands trembled.
The car had been parked in our driveway.
I'd nearly driven it.
And that evening, I'd planned to take Megan and our mother to a birthday dinner.
Then the investigator asked whether I recognized the name Samuel Pierce.
I froze.
“Samuel?”
“Yes.”
“That's Logan's father.”
There was a pause.
“Is he deceased?”
I frowned.
“No. He lives in Connecticut.”
The investigator asked a few more questions.
Then he explained that they were examining the funeral-home confirmation I'd received.