“This is horrible,” I whispered, scanning the faded document. “But what does this have to do with Mark?”
“Read the vehicle description carefully,” Arthur ordered.
I read the text aloud: “A dark blue SUV with a custom front grille.”
My blood ran cold.
“Mark drove that exact car,” I exclaimed, staring at Arthur in astonishment. “He sold it for scrap ten years ago.”
“He said the engine died, right?” Arthur asked.
“Yes,” I stammered. “He said it wasn’t worth repairing.”
“The engine was fine,” Arthur said bitterly. “The front end was destroyed because he ran me over and left me to die.”
“No,” I whispered. “Mark is selfish, but he wouldn’t let a man bleed to death.”
“Yes, he did,” Arthur said firmly. “And little Emma knew everything.”
“Emma was nine!” I shouted. “How could she know?”
“Because she heard him confess,” Arthur explained. “She heard him crying on the phone, saying he’d beaten a man near the bus station.”
I sat down, completely stunned by the terrible revelation.
“That’s why he started bringing me groceries,” Arthur said. “He recognized me from the local news.”
