He turned the photograph over.
On the back was the date.
The day before the accident.
Detective Reed stared at it for several seconds.
Then he looked at me.
“There’s something you need to know.”
My heart began racing.
“What?”
He reached into a folder and pulled out an old photograph.
It showed the scene of the accident.
A damaged vehicle.
Rain-soaked pavement.
Emergency lights.
And in the far background…
A dark SUV.
I looked at the two photographs side by side.
The SUV in the old police photograph appeared to be the same model as the vehicle in the picture from my son’s box.
But that wasn’t the most shocking part.
Detective Reed pointed to the license plate.
“We never had a clear enough image to identify it.”
I stared at him.
“Can you identify it now?”
He nodded slowly.
“The technology has improved. We may be able to enhance the original footage.”
“Footage?”
He looked at me carefully.
“There was a traffic camera nearby.”
My heart stopped.
“Why didn’t I know about this?”
“Because the recording was considered inconclusive.”
He paused.
“But we never had the information your son apparently collected.”
I thought about the letter.
Don’t believe every story you hear. Look for the blue folder.
My son had known he was investigating something serious.
Maybe he had been trying to protect his family.
Maybe he had been afraid.
Maybe the accident had truly been an accident.
Or maybe it hadn’t.
There was only one way to find out.
Before I left, Detective Reed made a copy of the documents and told me he would reopen the investigation if the new evidence supported it.
I walked outside into the afternoon sunlight.
Grace was waiting beside me.
She looked frightened.
I put my arm around her.
“Whatever happened,” I told her, “we’re going to find out.”
She nodded.
But then her expression changed.
“Grandma?”
“Yes?”
“There is one more thing.”
My heart sank.
“What?”
Grace reached into her jacket pocket.
She pulled out a small envelope.
“I found this in the basement too.”
I stared at it.
There was no name on the front.
Only a handwritten date.
The date was exactly one week before my son and his wife died.
I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
My son and his wife were standing outside a restaurant.
But they weren’t alone.
