Chapter 6 - Cornered Rats
With their assets frozen and nowhere to go, Trevor and Cynthia were forced to move into a cheap, seedy motel on the outskirts of Chicago.
I knew this because I had hired a private investigator to track their every move.
Desperation makes people sloppy.
My PI sent me an audio recording captured by a parabolic microphone aimed at their motel window. The audio was crystal clear.
"We have to run, Mom," Trevor was pacing, his voice high-pitched and terrified. "The bookies found out the accounts are frozen. They broke into my car today. They're going to kill me!"
"Shut up, Trevor!" Cynthia snapped. "If we run, we look guilty. She doesn't have proof of anything besides some moving money. The old man's body is in the ground."
"What if she digs him up? What if she finds the antifreeze?"
There it was. The confession on tape.
I forwarded the audio file directly to Detective Miller at the Chicago PD homicide division, whom Marcus had brought into the loop.
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"We have the motive, the means, and the confession," Detective Miller told me over the phone. "But we still need the tox report to authorize the arrest warrants. Sit tight, Sarah."
But sitting tight wasn't in my nature. I knew that if Trevor’s bookies were closing in, he might do something drastic. I doubled the security detail at the hospital for my grandfather and locked down the estate.
