Chapter 3 - The Woman in Anna’s CarThe body from Anna’s car was not Anna.
That confirmation came forty-eight hours after the funeral.
DNA identified the woman as Natalie Pierce, thirty-nine, one of Price Harbor’s regional quality directors.
I knew Natalie.
Barely.
She had been to our house twice.
Anna respected her.
The circumstances were awful but less mysterious once investigators reconstructed them.
Anna and Natalie had been traveling between Price Harbor facilities.
Anna’s SUV developed a tire-pressure warning.
Natalie offered to take it to a service center because Anna had another meeting nearby and could use Natalie’s rental car.
They switched vehicles.
Anna left her work tote in the back seat.
Her wallet was inside.
That was unusual.
Not impossible.
Natalie drove away in Anna’s SUV.
Less than an hour later, another vehicle crossed the center line on a rural road.
The crash caused a fire.
Natalie died.
Initial identification was circumstantial.
Vehicle registered to Anna.
Anna’s bag.
Similar age and build.
Severe damage complicated visual identification.
The medical examiner had marked the identification as provisional pending confirmatory testing.
I had not understood that.
Because Evelyn never told me.
“She said the identification was complete,” I told Detective Karen Sloan.
“She may have been referring to the preliminary identification.”
“No.”
I stared at her.
“She told me DNA was unnecessary.”
Karen wrote that down.
Evelyn had arrived before I did.
She called me after the crash.
I had been in Denver inspecting a construction site.
“Mason, there’s been an accident.”
I flew home.
By then, Evelyn had spoken with investigators.
With the funeral home.
With Price Harbor lawyers.
She moved like a mother in shock.
I mistook control for grief.
“How did Anna end up in Culpeper?”
The answer took longer.
Natalie’s rental car had been found two days after the crash near a rural service road.
Damaged.
Abandoned.
A witness reported seeing a disoriented woman walking near the shoulder that night.
Anna had apparently struck a tree after swerving to avoid debris during the same storm system.
No one connected the second accident to the first.
Her phone shattered.
Her purse had been in the other vehicle.
She suffered a concussion, fractured wrist, and head laceration.
A passing truck driver found her.
She was admitted as an unidentified patient.
For nearly two days, she drifted in and out.
Then she began remembering pieces.
Her name.
Lily.
Me.
Her mother.
Price Harbor.
She gave staff enough information that calls were made.
One of them went to Evelyn.
That was the call Walter referred to.
Hospital records later showed it.
Tuesday, 9:14 a.m.
A nurse called Evelyn Price.
Duration:
seven minutes.
Evelyn claimed she did not know anyone matching the description and suggested the patient might be confused because Anna Price Cole had died in a car accident two days earlier.
I read the note twice.
“She denied knowing her own daughter?”
Detective Sloan did not answer emotionally.
“The nurse documented that Mrs. Price stated her daughter was deceased and that the patient could not be Anna Cole.”
My hands shook.
The hospital had no reason to connect a confused unidentified patient in Culpeper with a supposedly confirmed dead woman near Fredericksburg.
Anna later gave Walter’s name.
That was how he entered the story.
Then her condition worsened temporarily.
A small brain bleed was discovered.
She was transferred to UVA Medical Center.
By the time investigators connected the records after Walter’s rescue, Anna was awake and stable.
I wanted to drive there immediately.
The detective asked me to wait until doctors cleared a visit.
I nearly lost my mind.
Then the phone rang.
A neurologist.
“You can come.”
Lily came too.
Not into the first meeting.
My sister stayed with her nearby.
I entered Anna’s room alone.
My wife looked smaller.
Bruised forehead.
Cast on her wrist.
Hair shorter on one side where doctors had shaved around the injury.
Her eyes opened.
“Mason?”
I stopped.
For ten days, I had forced myself to believe that voice no longer existed.
I crossed the room.
She started crying.
I didn’t.
Not at first.
I held her.
Then everything came apart.
“She had a funeral,” I said against her hair.
Anna became completely still.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
She pulled back.
“Where is Lily?”
“Safe.”
“Does she think I’m dead?”
I could not answer fast enough.
Anna closed her eyes.
The grief on her face was worse than the bruises.
Then she whispered:
“Mason, she knew.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Anna looked at me.
“She knew before the crash.”
My stomach tightened.
“Knew what?”
“That I was going to stop the Meridian sale.”
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The false funeral had not begun with a car accident.
The accident had simply given Evelyn an opportunity she was already desperate enough to use.
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