by Jane Blythe
“Did you know Ellen Zimmerman before?”
“No; we met the day I moved in. She brought around a casserole and introduced herself, offered to show me around the neighborhood. I liked her. She invited me to dinner the following night and I went. Ellen and Gavin and I had a great time and we were firm friends by the end of the evening.” Although she tended to keep her distance from people since the assault, Ellen was so lighthearted, although perhaps a little shallow, and that made spending time with her easy and relaxing and even a little freeing. She could just sit back and relax and not worry about anything but having fun.
“What about Ellen’s sons?”
“What about them?”
“Vincent works for you. Did you know Charles?”
“Yes, I’d met both of her sons before. Vincent was away at college studying pre-med, but I think the shock of his father and brother’s deaths kind of hit him hard and he took a break. That’s why he was working for me. Charles had some alcohol problems. I had to call the cops a couple of times when he pulled out one of Gavin’s guns and threatened his family.”
“Would you say you knew the sons well?”
“No, not well. Like I said, Vincent was away at college, so I’d only met him a couple of times before he came to work for me. And Charles spent most of his time either drinking or hungover. Why the questions about Charles? He’s dead; he can't have anything to do with this.”
Tom looked like he was debating whether or not to tell her something. He must have decided to because he reached across the table and took her hand. “Chloe suggested something that sounds crazy but might possibly be true.”
“What?”
“She thinks there’s a possibility that Vincent might really be Charles. That it was Vincent who died in the accident, but Charles decided to assume his identity, get out from under the charges that were going to send him to prison if he didn't complete his rehab.”
That was the single most crazy thing she had ever heard.
It couldn’t be true.
It couldn’t.
How could it?
People didn't just assume their dead brother’s identity in real life. That was crazy movie stuff. There was no way that Charles could pull off pretending to be Vincent—the brothers were too different. And Ellen. She would know that it was really Charles who had survived. Why would she go along with that? Simple answer was that she wasn't.
“Charles was an alcoholic. I've never seen Vincent drink. Ever.”
“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t. Or maybe the accident was a wake-up call. The push he needed to stop drinking.”
“You really think Vincent isn’t really Vincent?”
“I don’t know. We’re going to speak with Ellen this morning. Maybe that’ll help us clear things up. Is there anything that you can remember that happened during the robbery that would make you suspicious of either Vincent or Jeff?”
She tried to put herself back in her store on the night of the robbery, replaying the events over and over, trying to focus on the details, but there was nothing that occurred to her that she hadn’t already told Tom. “I'm sorry. I can't think of anything else.”
“That’s okay.” Tom still held her hand and squeezed it, his thumb brushing backward and forward across her knuckles. “I lied, Hannah.”
Like magnets, his eyes held hers, and she couldn’t look away. “About what?” she whispered.
“It’s not just a job. Nothing about you is just a job. I've kissed you twice now; you should know that you mean something to me.”
She had known that. She had always known that, but she had needed to hear him say it.
“When this case is over,” Tom continued, “we need to talk.”
That Tom looked every bit as anxious and unsure as she had felt the last few days was immensely reassuring. They both wanted to find a way to fix what had been broken between them, but neither of them was quite sure how to do it, or quite sure that it was what the other wanted.
But now, she knew.
They still had a lot they needed to sort out, but they would.
She didn't doubt that.
And she could wait until Tom and his partner had found and arrested whoever was stalking her.
There was one thing she couldn’t wait for.
Tugging her hand free from Tom’s, she ignored the surprise and hurt that flashed through his eyes, then she stood and walked around the table.
It didn't seem fair that he had kissed her twice, but she hadn’t kissed him once.
She was going to have to change that.
* * * * *
9:12 A.M.
Hannah had kissed him
Tom was finding it difficult to think about anything else.
When he had told her they needed to talk and she’d just sat there looking at him, his heart had dropped. He had been sure that she didn't want to reconcile, that she was just trying to think of a gentle way to let him down.
When she had pulled her hand out of his, he’d felt like his world was crashing down around him. Until these last few days, seeing Hannah again, he hadn’t realized how much he still loved her, how strong his feelings still were, and how much he wanted her back.
But he did.
And he would do whatever it took to make it happen.
He had been about to tell her that when she had stood, not to leave the room as he had first thought, but to come to him. To kiss him.
In that moment, he’d known that everything would work out. It might be a lot of work, and it might take some time, but he and Hannah would get back what they had lost. They were already making progress. Although she had initially turned down his request to check on her wounds from yesterday, she had then backed down, and allowed him to clean and tend to the cuts, which looked clean and like they were already beginning to heal.
Now he was so much more motivated to end this case. Today, hopefully.
“She's coming,” Chloe said as they heard footsteps on the other side of the door.
They were at Hannah’s next-door neighbor Ellen Zimmerman’s house, waiting to talk with the woman, who he hoped was going to confirm that Vincent was really her other son Charles, or that Vincent had some reason why he might want to go after Hannah. He didn't care who was targeting Hannah; he just wanted them stopped.
“Hello?” Ellen asked as she opened the door. “May I help you?”
“I'm Special Agent Drake, and this is my partner, Special Agent Luckman. We need to ask you a few questions.”
“Is this about the robbery at Hannah’s store?”
“It is,” he confirmed.
“I don’t know what I can tell you that Hannah or Vince couldn’t, but sure, come on in.”
She held the door farther open and led them into a living room filled with art supplies. There were half-finished canvases, a paint-stained easel, tables covered in paints, and brushes and pencils. Ellen was an artist, and although she had inherited her husband’s businesses upon his death, Hannah had told them that she had hired someone to manage them for her because she wasn't a businesswoman.
“Vince said that the people who held him and Hannah and Jeff at gunpoint weren’t the same people who had robbed the other jewelry stores,” Ellen said as she shoved aside a stack of unused canvases from the couch and indicated they should sit.
“That’s correct,” Chloe replied.
“Did Vincent tell you anything else about the robbery?” Tom asked. It would be helpful to get his take on things.
“He didn't talk about it much. It’s been a rough year for him. Losing his dad and his twin brother in such a way. Being in the car with them. My husband was killed instantly, but Charles was still alive. Vincent held his hand while he died. Then only seven months later, he’s held at gunpoint. He didn't really want to talk about it. I was just so grateful he wasn't killed. I couldn’t take losing him, too.” Ellen plucked a tissue from the box on the table beside the armchair she had sunk down into and blotted at her wet eyes.
“Vincent dropped out of college?” Chloe asked. It made sense if Charles was pretending to be his brother. Vincent was the academic one and Charles would most likely have struggled to keep up in the pre-med classes, plus the accident was the perfect excuse to drop out and have no one question it. On the other hand, it could also be perfectly true. The traumatic loss of his brother and father could be a reason for the real Vincent to drop out of school.
“He didn't drop out,” Ellen corrected. “He just took some time. He needed to be home as we both deal with the loss.”
“Is he living here?” Tom asked.
“No, he has his own apartment, but it’s nice to have him close by. I need him right now. I'm just so grateful that the cops turned up when they did. Those men had already shot Jeff; they would have shot Hannah and Vincent, too.”
He understood timing.
If the timing hadn’t worked out as it had, then he and Hannah would have been killed the night of the home invasion.
They had been saved by a nosy neighbor who noticed that their back door was open and that there were a mess of muddy footprints all over their back deck.
Thank goodness it had been raining for a week straight.
The elderly woman who lived behind them and spent all of her time watching the goings on in the neighborhood had known that he was an FBI agent and that there was no way he would leave his back door wide open. She had called 911, and the cops had arrived promptly.
Tom had been sure that he and Hannah didn't have long left when two cops had suddenly burst into the room.
The officers had ordered the six men, who had tortured him and Hannah for almost seven hours to put down their weapons and get down on the floor, but they had refused to comply. Four had been shot. Three died instantly. One was left in critical condition and later passed away. Two had followed the cops’ directions.
The nosy neighbor had saved their lives; he could never thank her enough.
“Was it your idea or Vincent’s to go and work for Hannah?” he asked.
“It was mine. I knew she needed someone on short notice, and Vincent was kind of at loose ends. I thought it would be good for him.”
“How did he get along with Hannah?”
“He liked her, thought she was a fair boss.”
“Does Vincent have a girlfriend?”
“No, he had been dating someone at college, but they broke up after the accident. It really shook up his whole world.”
The accident was potentially the catalyst for all of this. It was time to confront Ellen with their suspicions and see how she reacted. Tom looked to Chloe and nodded. This was her theory, and she should be the one to ask the question.
“Mrs. Zimmerman, is Vincent really Charles?”
Ellen’s face drained of all color.
Her mouth dropped open.
Her eyes scanned the room, seeking an escape route.
But there was none.
“Mrs. Zimmerman?” Chloe prompted.
“Wh—why would you a—ask me that?” she stammered.
“Is it true?” Tom asked quietly.
“Charles died,” Ellen whispered.
“But did he die in the accident or did he die when he assumed his brother’s identity?” Chloe pushed.
Ellen looked like a deer caught in the headlights. She didn't want to answer their questions, but she couldn’t find another option. There was no way out. They already knew the answer. It was written all over her face.
Vincent Zimmerman had died in that car, and his brother Charles had decided to take over his identity.
“I couldn’t lose him, too,” Ellen whispered.
“It’s true?” Tom asked. He wanted her to admit it out loud.
She nodded. “Yes. They would have taken him away from me.”
“It was your idea?” Chloe asked.
She nodded again. “He was in shock when I got to the hospital. He hadn’t spoken to anyone. He was still drinking so much, it was only a matter of time before they threw him in prison. I couldn’t lose him, too. I told him if he pretended to be Vincent, then all the charges against him would just disappear. He could have a fresh start. He promised me,” her eyes bored into them, begging them to believe her. “He promised me he wouldn’t drink anymore.”
An alcoholic couldn’t make that kind of promise. But Hannah had said that she had never seen him drink. Maybe the shock of the accident and losing his brother and his father in one swoop had been enough to get him to quit cold turkey. They now knew that Chloe’s theory had been correct, but that didn't mean that it was Charles who had set up the robbery.
“We think the robbery was an inside job,” Tom told Ellen. “A ring was stolen after the robbery, after Hannah had given the code to Jeff and Charles. Someone came back and attacked Hannah a second time and then broke into her home and left her gifts.”
“You think it’s Charles?” Ellen looked genuinely shocked.
“Do you?”
“He’s never said anything to me about Hannah before. I mean, nothing much. I didn't think he was interested in her or angry at her or anything.”
“Have you seen him drink since the accident?” Charles was violent when he drank. If he wasn't sober, then they needed to be extra careful when they approached him.
“I—I'm not sure,” Ellen admitted. Then her eyes grew wide; something had occurred to her.
“What?” he asked.
“Sometimes he spends the night here.”
That didn't seem significant. “And?”
“When Charles stays here, he doesn’t sleep in his old room, he stays in Vincent’s.”
Tom still didn't get it. “Why is that important?”
“Vincent’s room looks straight into Hannah’s.”
Now he got it. Hannah liked to sleep with her curtains open so the moonlight could stream through into the room. She had always liked that. When they had first gotten married, it disturbed his sleep because he was used to complete dark when he slept, not half-light. If Hannah’s blinds were open and Charles was sleeping in his brother’s room that overlooked Hannah’s, then it meant he could watch her while she slept.
* * * * *
1:31 P.M.
It was time.
They were here at the place Charles Zimmerman rented.
All they had to do was arrest him, then this was over, and Tom could go and give the good news to Hannah. With Charles in custody and Hannah safe, there was nothing left standing between them. They could finally sit down and work on their issues, or at least come up with a plan on how to get back what they’d lost.
Tom just prayed this went smoothly, that Charles didn't do anything stupid. But Charles was an alcoholic, and despite his promises to his mother that if he took over his brother’s identity he would stop drinking, it didn't look like he’d been able to do it. If he’d been drinking already today, then he would be volatile and violent, which made for a potentially deadly combination.
“Ready to go in?” he asked his partner.
Chloe nodded. “Ready.”
They had decided it would be best if only he and Chloe went in to talk to Charles. He already knew them from when they had interviewed him about the robbery. There were other cops here, waiting outside, ready to move in if things escalated, but Tom was hoping that wouldn’t be necessary. Hopefully, Charles was ready to accept the consequences of his actions instead of trying to hide from them.
“Let’s go,” he said to Chloe. He was ready to end this.
Together, they headed to the eighth floor of the apartment building where Charles lived. The place was quiet. Thankfully, most people seemed to be out, braving the cold and snow on this the second last day before Christmas. Should Charles decide he wasn't going to go down without a fight, it was a good thing there wasn't going to be people about who might get caught in the crossfire.
Tom honestly didn't think Charles would try anything. But the teenager did have a history of pulling a gun on his family when drunk, and if he wa
s backed into a corner, then there was no telling what he might try in a desperate bid for escape. Cops had cleared all the apartments on the eighth floor just to be safe.
Reaching Charles’ front door, he knocked once.
There was no answer.
He knocked again, but didn't identify himself. He thought it was better to wait until Charles opened the door to do that.
Still, there was no answer.
They knew he was in there. One of the residents had confirmed that Charles had arrived home about an hour ago with a paper bag full of groceries and several rolls of Christmas wrapping paper and hadn’t left. Maybe he had seen them and was hoping they thought he wasn't in there, or perhaps, his mother had managed to get word to him that they knew who he really was and were coming to get him.
He would give it one last try before they entered by force.
Tom knocked again, but still Charles refused to acknowledge them.
With a nod at Chloe, they both pulled out their weapons and he reached for the doorknob. It was unlocked and turned, and he opened the door. They were met with a long narrow hallway. There was a door to their left, another to their right, another farther down the hall on the right, and one at the end.
Taking the door on the left, Tom eased it open, and with Chloe covering him, he entered the room. It was a medium-sized kitchen, living, dining room. It was messy and looked just like he would expect a young, single, bachelor’s home to look. There were empty food wrappers and bottles of soda and pizza boxes strewn everywhere. There were clothes piled on the sofa but Tom couldn’t tell if they were clean or dirty. On a coffee table were a pair of scissors, the rolls of wrapping paper, and a couple of boxes. It looked like Charles had been doing his Christmas wrapping when they arrived.
There was no sign of Charles.
With the room cleared, they returned to the hallway and moved on to the first door on the right. It opened onto a small bedroom, clearly not the one Charles occupied because the only contents were a home gym and more litter piled about.
Again, there was no sign of Charles.
They moved on to the next door on the right. It was the bathroom. Surprisingly, this room was virtually spotless. The white tiles sparkled, the towels were hung neatly on a metal bar next to the bath, and the shower curtain was green and blue striped and looked nearly new. On the counter top, there was a toothbrush in a holder shaped like a snowman—that looked like something his mom would have picked out for him—a shaver, some deodorant, and aftershave. Charles was messy but obviously liked a clean bathroom.
