You just said the police thought he....
Luther’ POV
It was a little past eleven when I stood outside my office, hands buried in my pockets, staring at the sky. The clouds above looked heavy and dark, like they were warning me about something. I’ve never been the kind to believe in signs, but right then, my chest felt tight, and my heart picked up speed for no clear reason.
I didn’t even notice when Mateo came in. He stood next to me without saying a word. That silence said enough. Mateo always spoke first, usually cracked a joke or gave an update. When he kept quiet, it meant there was trouble.
“You sent someone to Sander's house, didn’t you?” I asked, still facing the sky. My shoulders were already stiff, but they tensed even more when he didn’t reply right away.
He cleared his throat. “She wasn’t there.” My heart sank.
“But her husband was. He was willing to talk.”
That gave me a bit of hope. I finally let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Go on,” I nodded. We had to act fast. This woman might be the key to solving everything, or she might just make things more confusing.
Mateo sighed. “You might want to sit down for this.”
“That bad?” I muttered as I walked to my chair. He sat across from me, and I couldn’t help but hope Charlotte was doing fine with her friends at the house. We’d avoided the penthouse since her mother already knew it well. We didn’t need more surprises.
“Luther,” Mateo said, rubbing his eyes. His voice had dropped, and so had his energy.
“I’m listening,” I told him. I leaned back and locked my fingers together, tapping my thumbs as I braced myself.
“I’ll start from the top,” he said with a deep breath. “Marya was married to Mr. Sanders for just three months before she vanished.”
“Vanished?” I asked, frowning.
“Sanders had money, lots of it. A trust fund, a big house, everything. He was older than Marya. His son from a previous marriage was just seventeen when they married. Marya was in her early twenties.”
I could already feel where this was going.
“And?” I asked.
“Things got complicated fast. In just three months, Marya managed to take almost half of Sanders’ money. But that’s not all.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess, the son?”
“Exactly,” Mateo nodded. “She was having an affair with him. For two months. Sanders didn’t have a clue. They were working together, her and the boy. They took the money and disappeared once Sanders caught on.”
I sat still, absorbing every word. The story sounded like something from a messy movie. But Mateo didn’t look impressed, he looked troubled, like this was just the beginning.
“Did he ever get his money back?” I asked.
“Patience, Luther,” Mateo said with a small shake of his head.
He took a breath before continuing. “A week after they ran off, parts of a woman’s body were found in a container filled with acid by a river upstate. The body was so badly damaged, they couldn’t recognise her. Not even a single tooth was left. Someone had pulled them all out.”
“To stop anyone from using DNA to identify her,” I said, my chest tightening. But I couldn’t figure out where Mateo was going with this.
“Exactly. The autopsy didn’t reveal much, but the police found an abandoned car further up the river. That car gave them what they needed. Inside, there was a photo of Marya and her husband, and a scarf he had bought for her. They matched her DNA to some hair found on her old comb at home.”
“So if Marya was murdered,” I began, trying to piece things together, “how does the stepson still have a car registered in her name? Did he kill her for the money they stole from Sanders?”
My earlier hope was fading again. If Marya was dead, then finding her stepson, her partner and lover, would be even harder.
“That’s what I thought at first,” Mateo replied.
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”
He looked thoughtful, like he was somewhere else even though he kept talking. “Think about it. Why would someone go through the trouble of melting a body in acid to destroy DNA, then leave items behind that could lead the police right back to the victim?”
That question stuck in my mind. It raised more doubts than answers.
“To cover up the killer’s own DNA, maybe. No one wants to risk jail or worse,” I said.
“That might make sense if the killer had destroyed the car too,” Mateo countered. “But they didn’t. The car was untouched except for the DNA of Marya and the registered owner. No trace of anyone else. So naturally, Sanders became the main suspect, but he was cleared. Turns out he had nothing to do with it. In the end, the police decided the woman was Marya, and he buried what was left of her.”
I leaned back, trying to process it all. “Did anyone ever look for the stepson? What’s his name, anyway?”
“Matthew. And yes, he was their top suspect at the time. But they never found him. The police believed he fled to Mexico and closed the case.”
I couldn’t help but think how different the results might have been if they’d had today’s tech back then.
“So, I asked Sanders if Marya had ever owned a black Cadillac,” Mateo continued. “He said yes, she had a Cadillac, but it was white.”
“Hold on,” I said, sitting up straighter. “You’re telling me the killer left Sanders’ car by the river and took hers instead?”
“Exactly. They repainted the car black and made a few other changes. My guess is that whoever took it kept it hidden for a long time to avoid drawing attention.”
That left a bad feeling in my gut. None of it added up. If Matthew was the one suspected and believed to have vanished across the border, then… who was driving around in her car now?
“You just said the police thought he..”
“I said they assumed,” Mateo cut in, holding up a hand. “That doesn’t mean they were right.”
“So you’re telling me Sanders’ stepson is the one stalking Charlotte?” I asked, my voice rising with confusion. “Why would he kill her father? And why go after her now? What does any of this have to do with him?”
My head began to ache from trying to make sense of it all. I watched as Mateo reached into the inside pocket of his coat and slowly pulled out a photo.
“I asked for a picture of Matthew,” he said, “just so we could finally put a face to the name. I explained to his father that someone was using a car registered under his late wife’s name. A man had been seen driving it, but no one could tell who he was. So Sanders gave me this family photo, it was taken the same month they disappeared. It has him, Marya, and Matthew in it.”
Mateo held the photo for a moment, like he was unsure whether to give it to me. Then, with a heavy look in his eyes, he passed it over. I took it, and the moment I flipped it over, my body went rigid.
It was him. The man I’d seen during Charlotte’s video call at the party. That split-second moment I had almost brushed aside… now it all came rushing back like a punch to the chest.
“Jesus,” I breathed, my voice low and strained.
But that wasn’t even the worst part.
My eyes locked onto the face standing next to Matthew in the photo, young, smiling, and painfully familiar.
Sophia Smith.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Every piece of the puzzle was shifting again, and it felt like I was just now seeing the real picture for the first time.
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