Chapter 3

Police lights swept across the rain-slicked pavement as two squad cars pulled up and officers stepped out.

Leading them was a stocky, sharp-eyed middle-aged detective with "Miller" engraved on his badge.

"What's going on here? Who called this in?" Detective Miller called out, his gaze sweeping from Frank Rhodes kneeling on the ground, soaked to the bone, to me sitting unscathed in my car.

Frank immediately lunged toward Detective Miller like a drowning man clutching at a lifeline.

"Officer! Thank God you're here!" he sobbed, his face streaked with tears. "This woman came out of nowhere and slammed on her brakes on the ramp. I couldn't avoid her—rear-ended her completely.

"I apologized, begged her to let me go—my mother's in the ICU, she's critical—but she wouldn't budge. She locked me out of my truck and made me kneel in the rain for half an hour! She even threatened to run me over!"

"That's right, officer, she's completely unreasonable!" several bystanders Frank had already manipulated chimed in. "We got it all on video—total psycho!"

Detective Miller frowned, walked over to my window, and tapped on the glass.

"Ma'am, step out of the vehicle. License and insurance."

I calmly gathered my documents, opened the door, and stepped out.

"Officer, here you go. Catherine Holloway." I met Miller's eyes, my voice steady and unwavering.

"I didn't call you here for a fender bender. I called because I believe this man, Frank Rhodes, is transporting something extremely dangerous in his pickup—drugs, weapons... or a body."

Dead silence.

Frank's pupils contracted sharply. Then he sprang up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

"You're lying! You're making up vicious accusations to cover your ass for causing this accident! Officer, she's slandering me!"

"Ma'am, do you realize what you're accusing this man of?" Detective Miller's expression turned grave instantly, his right hand instinctively moving to his holstered weapon.

"I know exactly what I'm saying." I pointed at the battered Ford pickup.

"Ever since the collision, I've been smelling blood. Strong. And if you look at the edge of his truck bed, the rainwater running off it has a reddish-brown color."

Under the spare tire… he chopped me into three pieces and stuffed me in black plastic bags…

Sarah's ghost stood behind Frank, her body dripping blood, shrieking the details at me.

"If I'm not mistaken, beneath the spare tire in his truck bed, you'll find black plastic bags." I repeated the ghost's words without hesitation, locking eyes with Frank. "Why don't you let them open it up right now?"

Frank's face went sheet white. He stumbled backward two steps, his lips trembling. "You… how the hell could you…"

Seeing Frank's reaction, Detective Miller immediately sensed something was wrong.

He drew his weapon and aimed it at Frank. "Hands on your head! Get on the vehicle! Now!"

A younger officer rushed forward, pinned Frank against the hood, and cuffed him.

Detective Miller approached the truck bed, took a deep breath, and yanked the cover open.

A nauseating wave of thick, putrid stench instantly flooded the air, mixing with the rain and making several onlookers double over retching.

Using his baton, Miller lifted the bed liner, exposing the spare tire.

Beneath it lay three enormous black trash bags. The impact from the collision had torn the seal on one bag, and a pale, bloodless female arm slipped out limply, a cheap red bracelet still circling the wrist.

"Oh God…" the young officer gasped.

The crowd erupted in terrified screams. The same people who'd been condemning me moments ago now scrambled back to their cars in panic.

"Suspect involved in homicide—I need backup at this location immediately! Secure the scene!" Detective Miller barked into his radio.

I stood there, staring coldly at Frank pinned against the car.

But then, in this moment of utter defeat, Frank's terrified face twisted into something else. He jerked his head up, locked eyes with me, and his mouth curled into a disturbing grin.

"Officer!" Frank suddenly shrieked. "I didn't kill her! She did! This woman—Catherine Holloway—she forced me to do this!"

"Shut your mouth!" The officer pressed down harder on him.

"I'm not lying!" Frank roared hysterically. "She hired me to dump the body! This truck isn't even mine! She told me to drive it here, to stage an accident as cover! Check the registration—it's not in my name!"

I watched his performance coldly, completely unmoved. Such a pathetic attempt at deflection—surely the police wouldn't buy it.

But I was wrong.

Detective Miller turned to face me, his expression now deeply complex and wary.

"Ms. Holloway, I'm going to need you to accompany us to the station for questioning."