Chapter 15 - THE CALL FROM INSIDE THE JAIL
Investigators reviewed Colin’s recorded jail calls.
Most were ordinary conversations with his attorney.
One number appeared eleven times under different names.
It belonged to a prepaid phone.
On the most recent call, Colin said, “They know about the lake.”
The man on the other end answered, “Then give them the cabin.”
“What if you’re there?”
“I won’t be.”
“What about my father?”
“He had his chance.”
Colin lowered his voice.
“You promised nobody else would get hurt.”
Martin laughed.
“No, Colin. You promised yourself that.”
My brother had not given us the cabin to help.
He had given Martin time to escape.
Dad listened to the recording once.
Then he asked Lena to turn it off.
“I thought he finally chose us,” he said.
I did not know whether he meant our family or the truth.
Perhaps they had become the same thing.
Colin was charged with obstruction and conspiracy to aid a fugitive. His attorney withdrew from the case after learning Colin had used privileged calls to pass information.
Later that evening, Dad opened his bedside drawer and removed the original jail letter.
He had kept it even after the break-in.
“Why did he warn us about Martin if he was still helping him?” Dad asked.
“Because people can want two opposite things.”
“He wanted Martin stopped.”
“And he wanted Martin to protect him.”
Dad traced Colin’s handwriting.
“He’s always been afraid of losing everything.”
“He hurt you because he was afraid.”
“I know.”
“He lied because he was afraid.”
“I know.”
“He is still responsible.”
Dad looked at me.
“That’s the part I keep trying to make smaller.”
I sat beside him.
“Because he’s your son?”
“Because if I admit what he chose, I have to stop waiting for the version of him I raised.”
I had no professional answer for that.
So I gave him the truth.
“You can love who he was without trusting who he became.”
Dad placed the letter on the table.
Then he tore it in half.
Not violently.
Not dramatically.
He folded the pieces together and tore them again until Colin’s warning, excuses and handwriting became a small pile of paper.
“I spent my whole life believing love meant leaving the door unlocked,” he said.
“What do you believe now?”
“That love without boundaries becomes permission.”
The sentence sounded like something he had paid too much to learn.
The next morning, investigators traced the prepaid phone through a store camera.
Martin had purchased it wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap.
Behind him stood another man.
Officer Daniel Price.
The first patrol officer who had responded on the night Dad was attacked.
He had been present before I reached the station.
His report contained the original recommendation for a psychiatric hold.
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Martin had not merely influenced banks and business owners.
He had someone inside law enforcement.
