Chapter 9 - Claire's PhotographClaire did not like rich-family mysteries.
Money created too many rooms people could hide inside.
Lawyers.
Trusts.
Private security.
Shell companies.
Publicists.
Ordinary people lied.
Powerful people employed specialists.
She sat with Detective Medina at the guide company office while technicians searched archival footage.
Every expedition used several cameras.
Helmet cameras were optional.
Route cameras monitored avalanche conditions.
One fixed camera overlooked the staging ledge.
Unfortunately, its angle did not show the equipment rack directly.
“It shows Nia,” Medina said.
“Partially.”
On-screen, Nia walked behind a rock formation carrying the red rope.
Forty-three seconds later, she returned.
No knife visible.
No cutting visible.
“Defense attorney will say she checked the line,” Claire said.
Medina nodded.
Then Claire noticed something.
“Go back.”
The technician reversed.
“Stop.”
Nia disappeared behind the rock.
Claire leaned toward the monitor.
“Zoom on the left edge.”
The image pixelated.
A reflection flashed against the stone.
Metal.
Medina frowned.
“A knife?”
“Could be.”
“Could be a carabiner.”
Claire nodded.
Not enough.
She returned to her own expedition photographs.
At 12:52, she had photographed the team for the guide company website.
Ethan stood smiling.
Nia held the red rope.
Marcus stood behind her.
At 12:57, Claire took another photograph while checking the weather meter.
Nia’s right jacket pocket bulged.
A black knife clip was visible.
At 1:02, another photo.
Nia’s pocket was flat.
Claire stared.
“When did police recover her gear?”
“Yesterday.”
“Was the knife there?”
“No.”
Medina looked at the timestamps.
“Still circumstantial.”
“Together with the audio?”
“Better.”
The door opened.
A deputy entered.
“We found Marcus Vale’s Denver condo empty.”
“Vehicles?”
“His main car is still there.”
“Nia’s?”
“Gone.”
Medina swore.
Claire looked at the mountain photograph again.
She zoomed out.
Marcus was looking at Nia.
Not the camera.
Not the mountain.
Nia.
His expression bothered her.
It was not affection.
It was observation.
Like someone checking whether an employee had completed a task.
“Detective.”
Medina turned.
“What?”
“Marcus knew.”
“We already know that from the radio.”
“No. I mean before.”
Claire pointed.
“Look at him.”
Medina studied the image.
Claire continued.
“He wasn’t nervous. He was monitoring her.”
Medina looked unconvinced.
“Body language isn’t evidence.”
“I know.”
Claire opened the next image.
Marcus’s left hand was near his radio.
Another.
Still there.
“He kept transmitting privately.”
“Maybe.”
“Your people should pull his phone records.”
“Already working on it.”
The records produced something far larger than anyone expected.
Marcus had called a private wealth-management firm in Zurich four days before the climb.
He had also contacted a corporate attorney specializing in shareholder succession.
And an insurance broker.
The insurance contact was particularly damaging.
Marcus had asked a hypothetical question.
If a privately held company’s majority voting shareholder died accidentally, how quickly could survivorship ownership be recognized for purposes of interim corporate authority?
The broker had refused to advise him.
Marcus called someone else.
Ethan listened to the recordings from his father’s study.
Each detail removed another place his mind could hide.
Then Medina called.
“We found Nia’s vehicle.”
“Where?”
“Near Vail.”
“Is she there?”
“No.”
“Marcus?”
“No.”
“But we found security footage from a gas station.”
Ethan held his breath.
Medina continued.
“Nia and Marcus were arguing.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“It might.”
“Why?”
“Because Nia tried to walk away.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
Medina said, “Marcus grabbed her.”
“Is she in danger?”
“She tried to murder you, Ethan.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
A long silence.
“I don’t know.”
Ethan looked at the photograph of himself and Nia as children.
“What happens if she turns herself in?”
“Her lawyer can discuss that with prosecutors.”
“She might have evidence against Marcus.”
“She might.”
“And if he thinks she’s turning?”
Medina understood.
“We’re expanding the search.”
Ethan hung up.
Claire stood in the doorway.
“How did you get in?”
“Mrs. Alvarez.”
He almost smiled.
Claire placed a printed photograph on Victor’s desk.
It showed Nia holding the rope before the climb.
“What am I looking at?”
“Her pocket.”
Knife clip.
Ethan swallowed.
Claire slid a second photograph beside it.
Flat pocket.
No knife.
Ethan whispered, “She did it.”
“Yes.”
Then Claire placed a third image down.
This one showed Marcus.
His eyes locked on Nia.
His hand touching the radio.
Claire said, “But I don’t think the mountain was her plan alone.”
Ethan stared at Marcus’s face.
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Behind the photograph, Victor’s missing letter had left an empty rectangle of dust on the desk.
And Ethan realized the person who had hated his father most might also be the only person who could tell him what Victor had been afraid to confess.
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