Chapter 12 - The Driver Knew Roxanne Before the CrashHis name was Gregory Voss.
Dashiell knew that name better than he wanted.
Gregory had been thirty-nine when he crossed the center line and struck Elowen’s car.
Blood alcohol nearly twice the legal limit.
He pleaded guilty.
Served prison time.
Released fourteen months ago.
Dashiell had never contacted him.
Never wanted to.
Now Gregory was sitting inside Roxanne’s house.
The connection looked monstrous.
Investigators cautioned everyone.
Knowing someone did not prove conspiracy.
Being in the same house did not prove anything about three years earlier.
Dashiell repeated those facts to himself.
They barely helped.
Gregory agreed to speak.
Roxanne did not.
Her lawyer arrived.
Naomi advised Dashiell to stay away.
He did.
Barely.
Gregory’s statement changed the story.
He had known Roxanne for years.
Not closely.
They attended the same recovery meetings before the crash.
Roxanne had struggled with alcohol herself in her forties.
Dashiell had never known.
The night Elowen died, Gregory said Roxanne called him.
Why?
She needed a ride.
Her car had a flat tire.
Dashiell’s skin crawled.
Where?
Near the pharmacy.
Time?
Around 12:55.
Gregory picked Roxanne up.
He admitted he had been drinking.
Roxanne knew.
According to Gregory, she argued with him about it but still entered the car.
Then they followed Elowen.
Dashiell stopped breathing when he heard.
“Followed?”
Detective Ruiz nodded.
Gregory claimed Roxanne wanted to “finish a conversation.”
Elowen had driven away from the pharmacy.
Roxanne told Gregory to follow.
For several minutes.
Then Elowen accelerated.
Gregory accelerated too.
Not a chase, he insisted.
Just keeping up.
At a curve, Gregory drifted across the center line.
Elowen swerved.
The collision happened.
Dashiell stared at Ruiz.
“So Roxanne was in the car.”
“No.”
“What?”
“Gregory says she made him stop roughly a mile before the crash.”
“Why?”
“They argued. She got out.”
“Then how did she reach the crash before police?”
“Gregory says he doesn’t know.”
Dashiell tried to understand.
Roxanne exits.
Gregory continues.
Minutes later crashes into Elowen.
Roxanne somehow arrives.
Maybe on foot.
Maybe another vehicle.
“What did Roxanne want from Elowen?”
“Gregory says he doesn’t know.”
“Do you believe him?”
Ruiz did not answer directly.
“He has reasons to minimize.”
Of course.
Gregory had already served time.
But admitting he was following Elowen could create new consequences.
“Why is he at Roxanne’s house now?”
“He says she contacted him last week.”
“What for?”
Ruiz looked at Dashiell.
“She wanted him to sign a statement.”
Of course.
A statement.
Everyone wanted documents.
“What would it say?”
“That he had never met Roxanne before the crash.”
Dashiell laughed bitterly.
“So she wanted him to lie.”
“According to Gregory.”
“What did she offer?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
Dashiell closed his eyes.
The hidden house.
Money.
Gregory.
Roxanne was cleaning history.
“What happened?”
“He refused initially.”
“Then why go to her house?”
“He wanted more money.”
Dashiell shook his head.
No heroes.
Just competing self-interest.
Still, useful truth.
Gregory also remembered something from the crash.
After impact, he was disoriented.
He saw someone approach Elowen’s car.
A woman.
He assumed help had arrived.
Then the woman left before emergency services came.
“Roxanne.”
“Gregory thinks so.”
“Think?”
“It was dark.”
“What did she do at the car?”
“He couldn’t see.”
Dashiell felt sick.
Elowen was still alive when paramedics arrived, barely.
Had Roxanne spoken to her?
Taken something?
The missing letter?
Ruiz continued.
“Police photographs from the scene show the passenger door open.”
Dashiell frowned.
“Wasn’t that from responders?”
“First responder says it was already open.”
Someone had opened Elowen’s passenger door.
Dashiell’s hands shook.
“What was missing from the car?”
“Nothing documented.”
Except perhaps paper no one knew existed.
The letter to Roxanne.
The statement Elowen wanted signed.
The evidence.
Dashiell whispered:
“She took it.”
Ruiz held up a hand.
“We don’t know.”
Dashiell knew.
Emotionally.
Legally, maybe not.
“Can Gregory identify her?”
“He is willing.”
“Then what?”
“Investigation.”
That word felt too small.
Meanwhile, the child protection case moved separately.
Maisy refused contact with Roxanne.
Good.
Dashiell removed Roxanne from school authorization, medical access, emergency contacts, and home security.
He discovered she had inserted herself everywhere.
Pediatric portal.
School pickup.
Dance class.
Library account.
Like roots.
He removed them one by one.
Maisy noticed.
“You changed the door code.”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not telling you.”
She looked offended.
Then Dashiell smiled.
“Because you tell everyone.”
“I do not!”
“You told the pizza guy our garage code once.”
“He needed help.”
Dashiell laughed.
Maisy laughed too.
For five seconds, life felt normal.
Then she asked:
“Is Roxanne going to jail?”
Dashiell’s smile faded.
“I don’t know.”
“Did she kill Mommy?”
The question hit him.
“Who told you that?”
“No one.”
Maisy looked down.
“I heard Uncle Calder.”
Dashiell closed his eyes.
Adults speaking around children again.
“No one knows that.”
“But maybe?”
Dashiell crouched.
“The man who hit Mommy’s car was responsible for the crash.”
“Roxanne?”
“We’re trying to understand what she did before and after.”
Maisy looked confused.
“Did she make him crash?”
“We don’t know.”
Dashiell hated saying it.
But truth mattered more than comfort.
Maisy nodded.
Then:
“Roxanne said Mommy was trying to steal me.”
Dashiell froze.
“What?”
“She said Mommy wanted to take me away from you.”
“When did she say that?”
“Last week.”
“Why?”
Maisy shrugged.
“She was mad.”
Dashiell’s pulse changed.
“Exact words if you remember.”
Maisy thought.
“She said, ‘Your mother was going to take you and disappear, but she never got the chance.’”
Dashiell went cold.
That statement had nothing to do with fertility.
Nothing to do with the estate.
It suggested Elowen had been planning to leave.
With Maisy.
Why?
Dashiell looked at Naomi later.
She asked the obvious question.
“Was your marriage in trouble?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
He hesitated.
Then remembered something he had refused to examine for years.
Two weeks before Elowen died, she had asked:
“If we had to leave Chicago for a while, would you?”
Dashiell thought she meant a vacation.
“What did you say?”
Naomi asked.
“I said work was too busy.”
She stared.
“And Elowen?”
“She said, ‘Of course it is.’”
Dashiell felt shame.
Maybe she had been asking for protection.
Maybe he had missed it.
Naomi asked:
“Where would she have gone?”
Dashiell didn’t know.
Then Kiara spoke from the doorway.
“Maybe Vermont.”
Dashiell turned.
“What?”
Kiara held a postcard.
“I found this in Maisy’s school bag.”
Postmarked two weeks before Elowen died.
A cabin in Vermont.
On the back, Elowen’s handwriting:
Someday, Maisy. Somewhere quiet. Just us, if we need it.
Dashiell stared at the words.
Just us.
May you like
Not Dashiell.
For the first time, he wondered whether the danger Elowen feared had included him too.
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