Phil cracked open a soda from the little fridge, offered one; Marcus shook his head.
“It was the father,” Phil said quietly.“Tom’s father.Had a family contracting business—local, old-school, no frills.It took a downturn when Tom was in his late twenties.The elder Garrett asked him for help—financially, I mean.To keep the company going.”
Marcus leaned forward.“And Tom refused?”
“Flat-out.”Phil shook his head.“He didn’t just refuse—he cut ties.Publicly.Told anyone who would listen he wasn’t going to let his father drag him down.Said he’d build something on his own merits.”A bitter twist of the mouth.“And he did.Built an empire while his dad’s company collapsed.”
“What happened to the father?”
Phil sighed.“Heart attack.Not long after.People here say it was the stress.Or the humiliation.Some even say Tom’s betrayal pushed him over the edge.And I don’t know if it’s true or not, but more than one person has told me Tom refused to visit him on his death-bed.”
Marcus made a note.“Did Tom ever express regret?Guilt?”
“No.”Phil answered immediately, then softened.“I mean… not to me.Look, it doesn’t show him in a good light, I know that.But I’m not here to judge the man’s relationship with his father.I can only tell you my experience of him, which was a good few years later.”
“And that was?”
“He was tough.He was direct.But fair.Honest—as honest as you get in commercial real estate, anyway.”Phil shrugged.“Whatever happened between him and his dad?That’s not something he ever talked about.And I’m not going to judge.Families.Families can be complicated, right?”
A crash from the kitchen made them both jump.Phil called out, “Everything okay?”
A small voice answered, “It was an accident!”
Phil winced.“See?Never a dull moment.”
Marcus stood.“One last thing…”
“Isn’t that what Lieutenant Columbo always says?Sorry…”
Marcus gave a polite smile.“I’m not trying to catch you out.Did you ever see a photo of Tom’s father?I mean, in Tom’s office, or his home?”
Phil thought about it.“Never.I guess that tells us something.”
“It might.I appreciate your time, Mr.Dehan, really.”
Phil nodded.“If anything else comes up… call me.I want whoever did this caught.”
As Marcus stepped back into the family chaos—kids laughing despite the shattered plate, wife soothing the now-crying toddler, dog enthusiastically greeting his return—it struck him how far this world was from Thomas Garrett’s marble office.From Jennifer Hayes’s immaculate penthouse.From the cold tableaux left behind.
Two victims so different in life.
So identical in death.
In the driveway, Marcus paused beside the sedan, notebook open to the two case summaries.
Hayes refused to see her father as he declined.
Garrett refused to help his father as he failed.
Both choices made in public.Both unapologetic.
The killer hadn’t chosen them because he knew them.
He'd chosen them because they fit a story.
A story he believed he was rewriting in blood.
CHAPTER TWELVE
