At six o’clock, Andrew left the office. He took the subway to the right station and found the cafe. Stephen Melford was already sitting at a corner table. He was a man about fifty, medium height, with a crew cut and an attentive gaze. He was dressed simply: jeans, dark jacket, no frills.
“Andrew?” he clarified when Mitchell approached.
“Yes.”
“Sit down. Coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
Melford nodded and signaled the waiter, ordering himself an espresso. Then he looked at Andrew. “So, what happened?”
Andrew was silent, gathering his thoughts. Then he began to tell the story slowly and methodically. He spoke about how Mrs. Barnes warned him at night, about how he overheard Christine’s conversation in the bathroom, about the brakes, the business trip, and the insurance. He explained canceling the trip and admitting he didn’t know what to do next.
Melford listened silently, without interrupting. Only occasionally did he nod. When Andrew finished, the detective spoke.
“I see. Are you absolutely sure about what you heard? Maybe it was a joke. A conversation about a movie. A misunderstanding.”
“No,” Andrew answered firmly. “I heard clearly. She named a name. Glenn. Talked about brakes. About the business trip. About how the house would remain hers.”
“All right. So this is serious. Now tell me: do you want to stop her, or punish her?”
Andrew thought. “I want to protect myself. And I want her to be held accountable. But legally. Without dirt.”
Melford smiled. “Right approach. Then we work like this. I establish surveillance on your wife. Record her movements, contacts, meetings. Collect information about her social circle, first of all, about this Glenn. Everything that can be used in court.”
“How long will it take?”
“Depends on the subject’s activity. If she acts cautiously, a week or two. If she’s nervous and makes mistakes, faster.”
“And the car? The brakes? They could have been damaged.”
“We’ll check that first. Where’s the car now?”
“At home. I left it in the garage.”
“Excellent. I’ll arrange an inspection tonight. Unofficially, through a mechanic friend. If we find evidence of tampering, that’s already proof. Then we can involve the police.”
Andrew nodded. For the first time all day, he felt he wasn’t alone. That there was a plan.
“What should I do?” he asked.
“Act natural. Don’t show your wife that you know anything. Don’t make scenes. Don’t pressure her. Your task is to give her the opportunity to lose vigilance and act, and mine is to record everything.”
“And if she tries again?”
“She will try, so be careful. Don’t drive the car until it’s checked. Don’t eat or drink anything that only she prepares. Don’t be alone with her in dangerous situations. No need to be paranoid, but vigilance is mandatory.”
Andrew felt a chill in his chest; his own home was now a battlefield.
“One more thing,” Melford added. “Your daughter. How old is she?”
“Fifteen.”
“She shouldn’t know anything, for now. This will protect her psychologically and prevent her from accidentally letting something slip. She already feels that something’s wrong in the family—smart girl. Then tell her you and your wife are going through a difficult period, that a divorce is possible, but nothing more. Not a word about the murder attempt.”
Andrew agreed. Liz was already suffering enough. To learn that her mother was planning her father’s murder would break her. They agreed on details, fee, deadlines, and communication methods. Andrew transferred the advance immediately.
“I’ll start tomorrow morning,” the detective said in parting. “I’ll be in touch. And remember, the main thing now is calm. Don’t let emotions take over.”
Andrew shook his hand and went outside. Evening was falling. The city was lighting up. People were hurrying about their business, laughing, talking on phones. Ordinary life. And his had collapsed.
He caught a taxi and headed home. On the way, Christine called.
“Where are you? Dinner’s getting cold.”
“On my way. Got held up at work. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Okay. Liz was asking when you’d be back.” Her voice was normal, even affectionate. As if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t been discussing how to kill him last night.
The taxi stopped at the house. Andrew got out, opened the gate, and walked to the door. The windows were lit. Something smelled delicious. Mrs. Barnes had apparently made dinner.
He entered. In the hallway, Liz met him.
“Dad, hi. Why do you look so sad?”
“Tired, sweetheart,” he answered, hugging his daughter. “It was a tough workday.”
“I see. Well, go wash your hands. Dinner’s ready.”
Andrew went to the bathroom, washed up, and looked at himself in the mirror. His face was haggard, his eyes red from lack of sleep. He looked fifty, though he was only forty-two.
At dinner, Christine was animated, talked about some meeting with a friend, about new cosmetics, and about plans for the weekend. Liz listened half-heartedly, picking at her potatoes with a fork. Mrs. Barnes silently drank tea. Andrew ate mechanically, not tasting the food. All the time he caught the old woman’s gaze. She looked at him with anxiety and sympathy.
After dinner, Christine went to the bedroom. Liz locked herself in her room with textbooks. Andrew stayed in the kitchen with Mrs. Barnes.
“Have you decided something?” she asked quietly, washing dishes.
“Yes. I hired someone. He’ll watch Christine, collect evidence.”
“And then what? Police, court, divorce?”
Mrs. Barnes sighed. “Poor little Liz. How will she survive all this?”
“I don’t know,” Andrew admitted honestly. “But it’s better this way than losing a father.”
The old woman nodded, then added, “I’ll be there. With her. Whatever happens.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Barnes. You… you’re family to us.”
The old woman’s eyes moistened. She wiped away a tear and went back to the dishes.
Andrew went up to the bedroom. Christine was lying on the bed with a tablet, scrolling through something. Seeing him, she smiled.
“You’re early today. Usually, you sit at the computer until eleven.”
“Tired,” he answered shortly. “I’ll go to bed early.”
“Maybe we can watch a movie together?” she suggested, patting the bed next to her.
Andrew felt cold. Sit next to her, pretend everything was fine while she was making plans to kill him?
“Not today. I have a headache.”
Christine shrugged. “As you wish.”
He undressed, lay on his side of the bed, and turned to the wall. Christine fiddled with the tablet for a while longer, then turned off the light and settled in comfortably.
“Good night,” she said.
Andrew was silent. He lay in the darkness, listening to her breathing. It was even, calm. She fell asleep quickly. Conscience apparently wasn’t bothering her. But Andrew couldn’t sleep. He thought about how quickly everything had changed. Just yesterday, he was an ordinary person with an ordinary family. And today, a victim of an assassination attempt, a private detective’s client, husband of a would-be murderess.
No, not a murderess. Not yet. But if it weren’t for Mrs. Barnes… He remembered her words. Otherwise, you won’t wake up tomorrow. She saved him simply by warning him, without unnecessary questions or hesitation.
The next morning he woke before everyone else. He got dressed, went downstairs to the kitchen, and made coffee. At seven o’clock, Melford called.
“Good morning. There’s news.”
“What?”
“Your car. My guy who inspected it late last night in your garage found out. The brake system is damaged. The lines are partially cut. Not immediately noticeable, but at the first braking at speed, they would have burst. You wouldn’t have been able to stop.”
Andrew paled. So it was true. This wasn’t just talk. Christine and Glenn really tried to kill him.
“What next?” he asked hoarsely.
“Next, I document this officially. Photos, video, expert opinion. Then I set up surveillance on your wife. Is she going anywhere today?”
“Usually on Tuesdays she goes to Champion Fitness Gym.”
“Perfect. I’ll be there.”
Andrew ended the conversation and sat on a chair. His hands were trembling. He imagined how he could have been driving on the highway, pressed the brakes, and realized they weren’t working. Speed, turn, cliff. He would have been gone. And Christine would have gotten everything. He closed his eyes. No. This wouldn’t happen. He was alive. And he would fight.
At half past eight, Christine came downstairs already in workout clothes.
“I’m going to the gym. I’ll be back by lunch. Are you going to work?”
“No. This week I’m working remotely.” Andrew nodded without looking up from his tablet.
She left. Andrew waited a few minutes, then called Melford. “She left.”
“Got it.”
Andrew exhaled. Now he just had to wait.
Liz appeared in the kitchen, sleepy and displeased. “Dad, where’s Mom?”
“At the gym.”
“Again? Does she live there now?”
Andrew was silent. Liz sat at the table and took a sandwich.
“Dad, did something happen between you two?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well, you’re kind of distant. And Mom’s strange, too. Are you fighting?”
Andrew looked at his daughter. She was looking at him seriously, like an adult. Smart girl. Too smart for her age.
“Liz,” he said carefully, “your mother and I are going through a difficult period right now. We might live separately.”
Liz’s face paled. “You’re getting divorced?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Why?”
“It’s hard to explain. Adult things.”
Liz threw the sandwich on the plate. “I’m not a child. I’m fifteen. I have a right to know.”
“Liz, no.”
“You always do this. Hide everything. Pretend everything’s fine. And then, bam, divorce.” She jumped up, ran to her room, and slammed the door.
Andrew sat, staring into space. Mrs. Barnes, standing at the stove, said quietly, “Don’t blame yourself. She’ll get through it. Children are stronger than we think.”
“I hope so,” Andrew answered dully.
He spent the whole day at home. Christine returned at two o’clock, cheerful and rosy. She sat down to lunch, chatted about the workout, the new instructor, and the good weather. Andrew listened and thought: she’s lying. Every word is a lie. She wasn’t at the gym. She was with Glenn.
In the evening, Melford called. “There’s something interesting.”
“Tell me.”
“Your wife went to a cafe on Commonwealth Avenue after the gym. Met a man there, forty years old, athletic build, expensive clothes, SUV. I ran the plates. The car is registered to Glenn Brennan, owner of a chain of fitness clubs.”
“So that’s him.”
“Looks like it. They sat for an hour and a half, talked. I got it all on camera: photos, video. Then they left, got in his car, and drove out of town to a cottage. I didn’t follow further; too conspicuous. But the fact of the meeting is recorded.”
“Good. What next?”
“Next I collect information about Brennan: who he is, what he does, what his reputation is. And I continue surveillance. If they meet regularly, it means the relationship is serious. And the brakes? The expert examination? Already done. Damage is intentional. Done recently. Most likely the night before your business trip. This can be used as evidence.”
“Thank you. Continue.”
Andrew ended the conversation and decided. It was time to move to the next step. Time to involve the police.
