Chapter 6 - The Poisoner’s Lab
“Arthur Vance?” the detective asked. His badge identified him as Detective Miller—no relation to the judge, thank God.
Arthur instantly adjusted his expression into one of profound grief. “Yes, Detective. Thank heaven you’re here. My granddaughter is inside, and her mother—”
“Mr. Vance, we aren't here about the mother,” Detective Miller interrupted, pulling a sheet of paper from his trench coat. “We just executed an emergency warrant on your property on Elm Ridge Road.”
Arthur went rigid. “On what grounds?”
“A tip from the hospital’s hazardous materials liaison,” Miller replied. “They identified industrial DMSO and raw capsaicin extract on the victim’s footwear. When my units entered your detached garage workshop, they found a half-empty jug of commercial solvent and a pair of rubber gloves stained with red chemical dye sitting in an open sink.”
Harold, the lawyer, instantly took a half-step back, distancing himself from his client. “Arthur... what is he talking about?”
“This is an unlawful search!” Arthur hissed, his composure finally shattering. “You had no probable cause!”
“The packaging of the gift was found in the back of your car, Mr. Vance,” Detective Miller said coolly. “Through the window in plain view. That gave us exigent circumstances regarding hazardous chemical contamination in a residential area. You’re being detained for questioning regarding aggravated child endangerment and assault with a deadly substance.”
One of the uniformed officers stepped forward, unhooking a pair of steel handcuffs.
“Don't touch me,” Arthur snarled, his voice dropping into a guttural register. “Do you know who I am? Do you know who funds your department’s pension board?”
“Turn around and put your hands behind your back, sir,” the officer said firmly.
Arthur looked at me. His eyes were wide, burning with a venomous fury that chilled me to the marrow. As the cuffs clicked around his wrists, he leaned forward.
“Mark will sign the custody papers,” Arthur whispered, loud enough to cut through the commotion. “He has no choice. I own him, Claire. And when he signs, Lucy comes to me anyway.”
They led him away, his expensive shoes squeaking against the linoleum.
Harold turned to me, sweating through his collar. “Mrs. Vance... my firm had no prior knowledge of any hazardous substances. We were merely retained for a standard custody dispute.”
“Get out of my sight,” I told him.
He didn't wait to be told twice. He gathered his briefcase and scurried out the doors.
May you like
Jenna and I collapsed against the waiting room chairs. But the victory felt hollow. Because Arthur was right about one thing: Mark was still Lucy’s legal father. And Mark was missing.
***
