The Woman Who Saw Too Much
784 Words
The driver insisted he had been lucky.
“You could’ve died.”
Evelyn didn’t answer.
She crouched beside what remained of the stone bench.
Police officers had already begun pushing curious onlookers behind yellow tape.
The truck leaned against a broken streetlight.
Its engine ticked quietly as it cooled.
Someone nearby was crying.
Someone else was recording everything on their phone.
Chaos always looked the same.
People rarely did.
She slipped beneath the tape before anyone noticed.
Old habits.
A young constable spotted her.
“Evelyn, you know you can’t—”
“I know.”
She never slowed.
“I’m leaving.”
She wasn’t.
The constable hesitated.
Something about the confidence in her voice made him doubt himself.
By the time he realised it, she’d already reached the truck.
No driver.
That was what everyone kept saying.
No driver.
Interesting.
She placed one hand against the open driver’s door.
Still warm.
Not hot.
Warm.
Her eyes drifted lower.
Mud.
Fresh.
Only on the outside step.
None inside.
She looked beneath the dashboard.
Nothing disturbed.
No broken ignition.
No exposed wiring.
No obvious sign of tampering.
Someone had wanted the truck to move.
Someone had also wanted it to appear impossible.
Those weren’t the same thing.
“Miss Hart.”
She closed her eyes for half a second.
That voice.
She hadn’t heard it in almost a year.
She stood slowly.
A tall man in a navy suit approached, carrying the expression of someone who had spent too long apologising for things he couldn’t change.
Detective Marcus Hale.
He looked older.
So did she.
“You still ignore crime scene tape.”
“You still let people contaminate your scenes.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
“I heard you were here.”
“I was passing by.”
“Liar.”
She didn’t deny it.
His gaze shifted toward the shattered bench.
“That wasn’t an accident.”
“No.”
“You’ve been here less than two minutes.”
“I only needed one.”
Silence settled between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Just familiar.
Marcus looked at the truck.
“You think someone’s sending a message.”
“I think someone expected them to die or as you said, sending a message.” Evelyn said with so much confidence.
“The journalist?”
“The survivor.”
Marcus glanced at her.
“You know who they are?”
“I know who everyone is.”
She reached into her coat and removed a small notebook.
Its edges were worn.
Several pages had been folded so many times they no longer lay flat.
She flipped through it.
Stopped.
Then handed it to Marcus.
Inside…
Five names.
Four had been crossed out.
Only one remained.
Marcus looked up.
“Aiden Cole.”
She nodded.
“The last publicly known survivor.”
“You’ve been keeping track.”
“I’ve been counting.”
Marcus frowned.
“Counting what?”
She looked toward the courthouse.
“Time.”
Before he could ask another question…
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown Number.
She let it ring.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then answered.
No greeting.
No breathing.
Only a calm voice.
“You’re behind.”
Click.
The call ended.
Marcus had heard enough to know it wasn’t normal.
“Who was that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m not.”
She slid the phone back into her pocket.
“They’ve been calling for months.”
Marcus stared at her.
“You never reported it?”
“I used to.”
“And?”
“They wrote ‘anxiety-related behaviour’ in my file.”
Marcus looked away.
He remembered that file.
Everyone in the department did.
A decorated detective.
One accusation.
One investigation.
One dismissal.
Career over.
Some reputations weren’t ruined.
They were buried.
Evelyn walked toward the edge of the crime scene, knelt down and touched the path the truck had stopped.
Stopped.
Turned back.
“Marcus.”
He looked up.
“The truck…”
“What about it?”
“It wasn’t trying to kill both men.”
He frowned.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
She looked at the shattered bench.
“It was aimed at one.”
“And the other?”
She looked toward the road where the survivor and the journalist had disappeared.
“He just happened to be standing in the wrong place.”
Marcus opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
Because he knew something Evelyn didn’t.
The truck hadn’t been empty.
Traffic cameras had captured someone climbing out…
Thirty-four seconds before impact.
The footage had vanished from the police server less than an hour later.
No backup.
No record.
Officially…
There had never been a driver.
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