THE LAST ALIBI

The Twin

The door opened. A man stepped inside.

He looked exactly like Cole. Same height. Same build. Same gray eyes and brown hair. Same scar on the left palm—mirrored.

But this man stood straighter. His clothes fit better. His face was harder. Eight years of military service had carved away whatever softness Cole once had.

Clark Mathers walked into the cell like he owned it.

The guard closed the door behind him. No jammer. No privacy. The camera blinked red.

Cole didn't stand. He stayed on the bench, hands on his knees, watching his twin for the first time since their father's funeral.

"Hello, Cole," Clark said.

His voice was the same. Deep. Calm. Controlled. The voice Cole heard in his own head when he talked to himself.

"Clark." One word. Flat.

Clark pulled the plastic chair to the far corner. Away from the camera's direct line. He sat down, crossed his arms, and studied his brother.

"You look like hell."

"I've been framed for murder. It doesn't do wonders for the complexion."

Clark didn't smile. He never smiled. Even as kids, Clark was the serious one. The one who planned. The one who calculated.

"I came as soon as I heard," Clark said.

"You heard on the news? Or did someone call you?"

"I have sources."

"Military sources? Or something else?"

Clark tilted his head. The gesture was so familiar it hurt. Cole had seen that head tilt ten thousand times growing up. It meant Clark was deciding how much to say.

"I work for a private firm now. Aegis Solutions. We provide intelligence and security. Your case came across my desk."

Cole felt his stomach drop. Sabine had mentioned Aegis. The black-site firm. The one Lauren had deposits from.

"You work for the company that paid my wife secret money."

Clark's expression didn't change. "Lauren was a contract employee. She did administrative work for us. Nothing classified."

"Then why was she getting paid in shell accounts? Why didn't she tell me?"

"Because the contract required confidentiality. She signed an NDA."

Cole stood up. The cell was small. He was suddenly aware of how close they were. How easy it would be to throw a punch.

"Lauren is dead. The NDA doesn't matter anymore. Tell me what she was doing for Aegis."

Clark stood too. He was calm. Too calm.

"She was a courier. She carried documents between our office and a federal task force. That's all."

"A courier. My wife. The woman who got scared when I threw a glass. She was working for a spy firm."

"She was good at her job."

"You're lying."

Clark stepped closer. His voice dropped to a whisper.

"I've never lied to you, Cole. Not once. Even when you deserved it."

The words hung in the air. Cole remembered the funeral. The argument. Clark accusing him of killing their father. Cole denying it. The words that followed.

"Goodbye, Cole."

"Good riddance."

"Why are you here now?" Cole asked.

"Because someone in my company is involved in Lauren's death. And I need your help to find out who."

Cole laughed. It came out bitter and broken.

"You need my help? I'm in a jail cell waiting for a murder trial. I can't help anyone."

"You can remember. The blackout. The missing hours. Whatever you saw, whatever you heard—it's still in your head. The brain doesn't delete memories. It just buries them."

"You want me to play detective from a holding cell."

"I want you to survive. Because if you're convicted, the real killer walks free. And I can't let that happen."

Cole looked at the camera. The red light blinked. Unchanged.

"Why do you care? You thought I killed our father. You probably think I killed Lauren too."

Clark's jaw tightened. For a moment, his composure cracked.

"I don't know what I think anymore. That's the problem."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small envelope. He placed it on the bench.

"There's a phone inside. Burner. Prepaid. The guard won't find it if you hide it well. Call me when you remember something."

"I can't call anyone from in here."

"There's a payphone in the common area. Use it after lights out."

Cole picked up the envelope. It was thin. Light.

"If I do this, what's in it for you?"

Clark walked to the door. He knocked twice. The guard opened it from outside.

"Closure," Clark said. "One way or another."

He stepped into the hallway. Then he paused.

"One more thing. The woman who visited you before me. Sabine Voss. Don't trust her."

"She's trying to help."

"She's trying to use you. She's been chasing The Eraser for ten years. You're just her latest tool."

The door closed. The lock clicked.

Cole stood alone with the envelope in his hand.

He opened it. A cheap smartphone. No brand. No markings. Fully charged. He slid it into his sock next to Petra's note.

Then he sat down and tried to breathe.

The cell was cold. The light was too bright. His head throbbed.

Clark was here. After eight years. Working for the same company that paid Lauren. Claiming he wanted to help.

But Clark had also warned him against Sabine. And Sabine had warned him against Clark.

Everyone was a suspect. Everyone had an agenda.

Cole pressed his palms against his eyes. The darkness behind his lids was total. No flashes of memory. No voice. Just silence.

Then a sound. Faint. From the hallway.

Footsteps. Stopping outside his door.

The slot opened. A pair of eyes peered in. Not a guard's eyes. Too soft. Too scared.

"Cole?"

A woman's voice. Young.

He stood up and walked to the door. The eyes belonged to a girl. Early twenties. Blonde hair pulled back. Tears on her cheeks.

"Who are you?"

"Piper. Piper Vance. I'm your teaching assistant. From school."

Cole remembered her now. Shy. Hardworking. Always stayed after class to ask questions about the lesson plans.

"What are you doing here, Piper?"

"I came to see you. To tell you I don't believe you did it."

She pressed her palm against the steel door. Her fingers were shaking.

"The police came to the school. They asked everyone questions. I told them you were a good teacher. That you never hurt anyone."

Cole's throat tightened. "Thank you. That was brave."

"I also told them about the argument you had with Lauren. In the parking lot. Two months ago."

Cole's blood went cold. "What argument?"

"You were yelling at her. She was crying. You grabbed her arm. She pulled away. I saw the whole thing from my car."

Cole stumbled backward. He didn't remember any argument in a parking lot. Didn't remember grabbing Lauren's arm.

"I don't—" he started.

"The police said it proves you had a violent temper. They're going to use it at trial."

Piper's voice cracked. Tears fell freely now.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do. They said I had to tell the truth or I'd go to jail."

Cole walked back to the door. He pressed his forehead against the cold steel.

"You did the right thing. Telling the truth is never wrong."

"But it hurts you."

"Everything hurts right now. One more piece of evidence doesn't change much."

He heard her sniffle on the other side.

"I brought you something," she said. "The guard said I could leave it."

A small package slid under the door. A paperback book. A thriller. The cover was worn.

"I know you like to read. I thought it might help pass the time."

Cole picked up the book. He opened it. Between the pages was a folded piece of paper.

I'm wearing a wire. The police made me do it. I'm sorry.

He closed the book quickly. His heart hammered.

"Thank you, Piper. I appreciate it."

"I have to go now. They said I can only stay five minutes."

"Go. Stay safe."

Her eyes lingered on the slot for a moment. Then she was gone.

Cole sat down. He opened the book again. The note was still there. He read it three times.

I'm wearing a wire.

Piper was working for the police. Feeding them information. Recording their conversations.

But she had warned him. That meant something. She wasn't a willing informant. She was being coerced.

Cole looked at the camera. Then at the door. Then at the phone in his sock.

He had three contacts now. Dean. Sabine. Clark. And one potential ally who was also a potential trap.

He needed to think.

The hours crawled. Dinner came. A tray of gray meat and instant potatoes. Cole ate half of it. Drank the water. Stared at the walls.

At 9 PM, the lights dimmed. The camera's red light stayed on.

At 10 PM, the guard announced lights out.

Cole waited.

At 11 PM, he heard snoring from the cell next door.

He pulled the burner phone from his sock. The screen glowed blue in the darkness. He had one number memorized. Petra's.

He typed it slowly. His thumb shook.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

A voice answered. Whispering.

"Who is this?"

"Petra. It's Cole. I got your note."

Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath.

"You called. I didn't think you would."

"I don't have many options left. You said you saw him. Saw who?"

"The man in your house. The night Lauren died. I was there."

Cole's blood stopped moving.

"You were in my house?"

"I was in the backyard. I came to talk to Lauren. We had a fight earlier. I wanted to apologize."

"What did you see?"

A pause. Petra's breathing was ragged.

"I saw a man leave through the back door. At 3:30 AM. He was wearing dark clothes. A hood. I didn't see his face."

"Then how do you know he was the killer?"

"Because when I went inside, Lauren was already dead. And you were passed out on the couch. The gun was on the floor next to you."

Cole closed his eyes. The image burned into his brain.

"Did you call the police?"

"No. I panicked. I ran. I've been hiding ever since."

"You're the only witness who can save me. You have to come forward."

"I can't. They'll kill me."

"Who will?"

"The same people who killed Lauren. They know I was there. They've been looking for me."

Petra's voice broke. She was crying now.

"I have evidence, Cole. Photos. Video. But I can't give it to the police. There's a mole in the department. Someone working for the killer."

"Then give it to my lawyer. Dean Cross. He's not police."

"Dean Cross? The one who was acquitted of killing his wife?"

"He was framed too. Just like me."

A long silence.

"Meet me tomorrow. The courthouse basement. There's an old records room. No cameras. No guards. 2 PM."

"I'm in a jail cell, Petra. I can't just walk out."

"Then find a way."

The line went dead.

Cole stared at the phone. The call log showed 4 minutes, 12 seconds.

He deleted the record. Then he hid the phone back in his sock.

The cell was dark. The camera blinked red.

He needed to escape.

Not to run from justice. To find it.

Petra had evidence. Real evidence. But she wouldn't give it to the police. She wouldn't give it to a lawyer.

She would only give it to him.

Which meant Cole needed to be at the courthouse tomorrow at 2 PM.

And the only way out of this cell was through Dean Cross.

Cole lay back on the mattress. He stared at the ceiling until his eyes burned.

The voice came back. Not from memory. From imagination.

Blame the drunk husband. They always do.

But this time, Cole answered.

Not this time.