Chapter 5 - The Suicide Note
The next seventy-two hours were a blur of police stations, AMBER Alerts, and camera crews camped on my front lawn.
Detective Alvarez issued a felony warrant for Daniel’s arrest — first on kidnapping and custodial interference, then upgraded to murder after the medical examiner officially ruled Richard’s death a homicide. The Oxy in his system was three times the lethal dose, and the ME found needle marks on his inner arm that didn’t match Richard’s lifestyle — someone had injected him, not given him pills to swallow. Mark the cousin had flipped completely, giving police a full, sworn statement about the $5,000 and the Oxy prescription. Daniel was now the prime suspect in his own father’s murder.
But none of that mattered to me. All that mattered was Emma.
The AMBER Alert went out on every highway sign, every TV station, every radio frequency in New England. Daniel’s photo, Emma’s photo, his license plate — everywhere. Hundreds of tips poured in. A truck driver thought he saw them on I-91 north. A gas station attendant in New Hampshire was sure he’d bought coffee there. A woman in Vermont swore they’d checked into her motel.
Every lead turned cold.
Jake worked around the clock. He pulled Daniel’s credit cards — all frozen, no activity since he left the house. His E-ZPass showed no tolls after 2 AM the night he took Emma. His cell phone was off, the battery probably pulled. He’d planned this. He’d known the walls were closing in. He’d had an escape route ready.
“Guys like Daniel don’t run to Mexico,” Jake told me on the third day, spread out on my living room floor with a map of the Northeast pinned to the wall. “Too obvious. And he’s not a criminal mastermind — he’s a rich kid from the suburbs who watched too many Taken movies. He’s gonna go somewhere he knows. Somewhere with family. Somewhere off-grid.”
He tapped a red pin on the map.
“Northern New Hampshire. Coos County. Richard owned a hunting cabin up there, forty acres of land, no electricity, no running water, nearest neighbor eight miles away. Deed is in Richard’s name, never transferred. Cops checked it Christmas week when they were looking for Richard, but it was empty. Daniel knows it like the back of his hand. Spent every summer there as a kid.”
Detective Alvarez frowned. “We checked it, Rainer. Twice. No tire tracks, no footprints, smoke from the chimney —”
“Did you check the second cabin?” Jake interrupted.
She blinked. “Second cabin?”
“Richard built a smaller one back in ‘08,” Jake said, pulling a satellite photo from his folder. “Back in the far corner of the property, near the Canadian border. Never pulled a permit. Used it as a ‘blind’ for bear hunting. You can’t see it from the main road. Can’t even see it from the first cabin. Only shows up on high-res satellite.”
He slid the photo across the coffee table. There it was — a tiny speck of a building, half-hidden by pine trees, a dirt track leading to it that didn’t show up on any official map.
“Daniel would know about it,” Jake said. “He helped his dad build it. I found photos on his old Facebook account from 2009. Him and Richard, holding two-by-fours, grinning like they’d just won the lottery.”
Detective Alvarez was already on her radio, calling in SWAT and the New Hampshire state troopers.
An hour later, we were flying north in an unmarked police helicopter, the trees a sea of dark green and white far below us. I sat in the back, strapped in, staring out the window, willing myself to see Emma’s face in every clearing.
We found the cabin at 4:17 PM.
The helicopter hovered fifty yards away while SWAT moved in on foot, rifles raised, shields up. I watched through binoculars as they surrounded the tiny building, a voice on a megaphone calling out Daniel’s name.
Nothing.
No response. No movement. No sound at all except the wind in the pines.
They breached the door with a battering ram.
Three minutes later, Detective Alvarez’s radio crackled. “Clear. Cabin’s empty. But… you’re gonna wanna see this, Detective. There’s a kid’s drawing on the wall. And a used dressing from a burn wound. Fresh. Less than twelve hours old.”
They’d been there. Recently.
We landed and I ran to the cabin, the cops yelling after me to wait. The door was hanging open. Inside, it was small — one room, a wood stove, a cot, a stack of canned beans on a shelf. On the wall above the cot, taped up with duct tape, was a crayon drawing Emma had made. A rainbow, a sun, three stick figures labeled Mommy, Daddy, Emma.
My breath caught. She’d drawn it after the attack. After her own father had kidnapped her.
On the cot, crumpled in a ball, was one of Emma’s sterile burn dressings. The silver sulfadiazine cream was still wet on it. She’d been changed here sometime that morning.
On the wood stove, still slightly warm, sat a half-empty mug of hot chocolate.
They’d left in a hurry. Probably heard the helicopter.
“Tracks lead north,” a state trooper called from the doorway. “Snowmobile. Two sets of treads. Headed toward the border. Looks like they left maybe an hour ago.”
Canada.
If Daniel got Emma across that border, we might never get her back. Canada didn’t extradite on parental kidnapping charges easily. He could disappear into the wilds of Quebec, change their names, start over.
“Get me border patrol on the line!” Detective Alvarez yelled. “Every crossing from Pittsburg to Chartierville — shut ‘em down! Nobody gets across!”
But I knew it was too late. The border up there was nothing but trees and snow and a hundred unmarked logging roads. A man who’d grown up hunting these woods could cross in his sleep.
I sank onto the edge of the cot, Emma’s drawing in my hand, and let myself cry for the first time since Christmas morning. Big, heaving sobs that shook my whole body. My daughter was out there somewhere, in the freezing cold, with a man who’d helped burn her face off and then murdered his own father to cover it up. She was scared. She was hurt. And I couldn’t protect her.
A hand on my shoulder. Jake.
“Hey,” he said softly. “We’re gonna find her. He can’t run forever. He’s got a nine-year-old with second-degree burns who needs pain meds and dressing changes twice a day. He can’t keep that up in the woods forever. He’s gonna have to stop somewhere. A clinic. A pharmacy. A hospital. And when he does — we’ll be there.”
He was right. Emma couldn’t survive long without proper care. The burns were still healing. Infection was a constant risk. Her painkillers wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, Daniel would have to make a mistake.
We drove back to Boston that night, the helicopter staying up to patrol the border. I walked into my empty house, the silence screaming at me. Emma’s room was exactly as she’d left it — her stuffed animals lined up on the pillow, her favorite sparkly shoes by the door, the Christmas stocking still hanging on the mantel that I hadn’t had the heart to take down.
I fell asleep on her bed that night, clutching her rabbit to my chest.
I woke up at 3 AM to the sound of my phone ringing. Unknown number.
“Hello?” I said, my voice thick with sleep.
Silence on the other end. Then a small, muffled voice.
“Mommy?”
Emma.
I sat bolt upright. “Baby! Baby, where are you? Are you okay?”
“Mommy, my face hurts,” she whispered. “And Daddy is being weird. He keeps crying and saying he’s sorry. We’re in a car. It’s cold. There’s lots of snow.”
“Emma, listen to me —” I was already out of bed, grabbing my keys, dialing Detective Alvarez on speakerphone “— can you tell me what you see out the window? Any signs? Any stores? Any mountains?”
“There’s a sign,” she said. “It says… Welcome to Maine. The Way Life Should Be.”
Maine. They’d doubled back. Gone east instead of north. Clever. Everyone was looking for them in New Hampshire and Canada.
“Okay, baby, that’s good. That’s so good. Now — is Daddy there? Can you talk?”
“He’s in the gas station,” she said. “Paying for gas. He told me to stay quiet. Mommy, I’m scared. He said if I talk to you, the bad men will take me away forever.”
“Emma, listen to me very carefully,” I said, my voice as steady as I could make it. “Daddy is the bad man. I know that’s hard to hear, but it’s true. He hurt you. He hurt Grandpa. And he’s not gonna take care of you the way you need. I need you to be very brave, okay? When he comes back to the car —”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone. No no no no no.
I called it back. Straight to voicemail.
Detective Alvarez picked up on the first ring. “We traced it! Cell tower in Fryeburg, Maine — right on the New Hampshire border. Gas station at the intersection of Route 302 and 113. We’ve got state troopers ten minutes out. Claire — stay there. Don’t drive. We’ll —”
I was already in my car, peeling out of the driveway.
Fryeburg was two and a half hours from my house. I drove like a woman possessed, doing ninety on the highway, ignoring the speed limits, ignoring the horns of other drivers. All I could think about was Emma’s voice on the phone — small, scared, alone. My face hurts.
I got to the gas station at 5:45 AM, just as the sun was coming up over the White Mountains. The police were already there. Three cruisers, lights flashing. The gas station owner was standing by the door, talking to a trooper, pointing east down Route 302.
“He was here,” Detective Alvarez said, running up to me as I jumped out of the car. “Credit card — he used his sister’s. Stupid mistake. Bought gas, a bunch of snacks, children’s Tylenol, and a first aid kit. Clerk said he had a little girl with him, face all wrapped up, quiet as a mouse. They left ten minutes before we got here. Headed east on 302 toward Portland.”
Portland.
Elaine lived in Portland.
Oh my God.
“Detective,” I said, grabbing her arm. “I know where he’s going. Elaine Carter — Richard’s first wife? She lives in Portland. Daniel’s been calling her for months. He’s gonna go to her. He thinks she’ll help him. She’s his mother.”
Detective Alvarez was already barking orders into her radio. Portland PD was notified. Units were being dispatched to Elaine’s bookstore and her apartment.
We jumped back in the cars and tore east.
Portland was an hour away. I drove behind Detective Alvarez, my knuckles white on the wheel, praying we’d get there before Daniel did. Praying Elaine would do the right thing. Praying my daughter was still okay.
We pulled up to Elaine’s apartment building — a cute brick place in the West End, old trees lining the street — at 7:02 AM.
Daniel’s car was parked out front.
We made it.
SWAT was already moving in. Uniformed officers surrounded the building. Detective Alvarez and I ran up the back stairs with two plainclothes cops.
Elaine’s apartment was on the third floor. The door was slightly ajar.
We could hear voices from inside.
A man’s voice — Daniel — desperate, pleading. “Mom, you have to help me! She’s my daughter! Claire is crazy, she’s making all this up! They’re gonna put me in jail for the rest of my life! I just need a place to lay low for a few days, just until I can get us across the border to Nova Scotia —”
A woman’s voice — calm, steady, older. “Daniel. Look at her. Look at your daughter’s face.”
A pause.
“She’s nine years old,” Elaine said. “And the man you call father burned her with acid. And you let him. And then you killed him. I know you did. I know how Richard’s mind works. I know how your mind works — because I watched him make you this way. But I won’t let you destroy this little girl the way he almost destroyed me. The police are here, Daniel. I called them ten minutes ago. It’s over.”
A scream. “YOU BITCH!”
A child’s cry. “DADDY STOP!”
We burst through the door.
The living room was small, filled with books and plants. Daniel was standing by the window, holding Emma tight against his chest, one hand clamped over her mouth. In his other hand was a kitchen knife, pressed to her bandaged throat.
Elaine was standing between him and the door, her hands up, her face calm. She looked exactly like the photograph. Exactly like me.
“Daniel,” Detective Alvarez said, her gun drawn but pointed at the floor. “Put the knife down. Let her go. There’s nowhere to run. The building’s surrounded.”
Daniel was shaking all over. His eyes were wild, bloodshot. “NO! You’re not taking her! She’s MINE! I made her! I sacrificed everything for her! You’re not gonna lock me up and let that woman —” he nodded at me, venom in his voice “— turn her against me like she turned everyone else!”
Emma was sobbing into his hand, her good hand clutching his wrist, trying to pull it away. Her bandages were slipping. I could see the edge of a raw, angry burn peeking out.
“Daniel,” I said, stepping forward, my hands up, my voice as soft as I could make it. “Daniel, look at me. It’s over. We know everything. We know about the acid. We know about the Oxy. We know you killed your dad. But it doesn’t have to end like this. Put the knife down. Let Emma go. She’s hurt. She needs a doctor. You love her, right? You don’t want her to get hurt more.”
His grip on the knife tightened. “You don’t know anything about love! You never loved me! You just used me to get to Richard’s money! You —”
“Daniel,” Elaine said, cutting through his rant. Her voice was softer now. Sadder. “I know you’re not a monster. Not really. He made you this way. All those years of yelling, all those years of telling you you weren’t good enough. I should’ve taken you with me when I left. I should’ve fought harder. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry I left you alone with him.”
Daniel froze. For the first time, the wildness in his eyes softened. Just a little.
“Mom?” he whispered.
“I’m here, baby,” she said, taking a small step toward him. “I’m here now. And I’m not gonna leave you again. But you have to let Emma go. Okay? You have to give her to her mother. She needs her mommy right now. And then… then we’ll figure this out. Together. Like we should’ve done thirty years ago.”
She took another step. Then another.
Daniel’s hand trembled. The knife wavered away from Emma’s throat, just an inch.
It was enough.
One of the plainclothes cops moved faster than I could see. He lunged, grabbing Daniel’s knife wrist and slamming it against the wall. Daniel screamed. Emma fell away from him, into my outstretched arms.
I caught her and fell backward onto the carpet, clutching her to my chest, her sobs muffled against my sweater. She was here. She was mine. She was safe.
Behind me, I heard the scuffle, the click of handcuffs, Daniel’s voice screaming I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry over and over — just like he had when we changed her dressings.
Elaine knelt down beside us. She looked at Emma — really looked at her, at the bandages, at the fear in her eyes — and then she looked at me.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For all of it. For him. For my son. For everything they did to your family.”
May you like
I held Emma tighter.
“Me too,” I said.
