I stared at Marcus’s photo.
Ordinary face. The kind you’d pass on the street and forget immediately.
But those were the eyes that had looked at my house and seen a murder scene.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
Bradley closed his laptop and looked at me directly.
“We need Jennifer to confess on tape,” he said. “Her lawyer’s already building a defense that Jason acted alone. That she had no knowledge of the plot.”
He held my gaze.
“Without solid proof of her involvement, she might walk.”
“Jason’s testimony—”
“Can be dismissed as a drug addict trying to reduce his sentence by blaming his mother,” Bradley said. “We need her words. Her voice admitting what she did.”
He stood and walked to the window.
“Prison visits are our best shot. Jason can request to see her. If he plays it right, she might let something slip.”
“You want to use my son as bait?” I asked.
“I want to use your son,” Bradley said, “to catch the woman who manipulated him into attempted murder.”
His voice was firm.
“Luke, this is our chance. Maybe our only chance.”
He picked up his phone and dialed, putting it on speaker.
After three rings—
“Hello?”
Jason’s voice, thin, nervous.
“Jason,” Bradley said, “it’s Detective Bradley. Your father’s here with me.”
“I’m here, son,” I said.
Bradley continued.
“Jason, we need your help. We need you to request a visit with your mother. Get her talking about the plan, about Marcus, about what she told you to do.”
Silence.
“Then she’ll know,” Jason whispered. “She’s smart. She’ll see right through it.”
“Not if you play it right,” Bradley said. “You’re angry at your father for abandoning you. You’re hurt that he hasn’t visited more. You want your mother to know you’re still on her side.”
Jason’s breathing hitched.
“But I’m not.”
“She doesn’t know that,” Bradley said. “As far as Jennifer knows, you’re still her son who’d do anything for her.”
Bradley glanced at me.
“Make her feel safe. Make her think you’re still under her control. Then ask about the plan. Say you’re worried Marcus might talk. See how she reacts.”
Another long silence.
“What if she figures it out?” Jason asked. “What if she realizes I’m wearing a wire or that you’re listening?”
“Then she’ll call her lawyer and the visit ends,” Bradley said. “But if she doesn’t—if she talks…”
He let it hang.
“Jason, this woman tried to kill your father using you as the weapon. She doesn’t get to walk away from that.”
I heard my son breathing on the other end of the line.
I said quietly, “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.”
“No,” Jason said.
His voice was stronger now.
“No. I want to. I need to. This is the only way I can make it right.”
Bradley nodded.
“Tomorrow. Two p.m. We’ll have audio recording through the prison phone system and officers standing by.”
Bradley’s jaw was tight.
“If she suspects anything—if she asks for her lawyer—you end the conversation immediately. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Jason said.
“If this works,” Bradley added, “your cooperation will be noted in your sentencing. I can’t promise anything, but it will matter.”
“I don’t care about that,” Jason said.
His voice cracked slightly.
“I just want to stop her from hurting anyone else.”
Bradley exhaled.
“Good. I’ll arrange the visit for tomorrow at two. Stay strong.”
“Wait,” Jason said.
There was a tremor in his voice.
“Dad, are you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“If something happens to me in here,” Jason said, “if Mom figures it out and—”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” I said.
“But if it does,” Jason whispered, “I need you to know I love you. And I’m sorry for everything.”
My eyes burned.
“I love you too, son,” I said, voice thick. “And I forgive you.”
I heard him crying softly before the line went dead.
Bradley set the phone down and turned to me.
“What about Marcus Webb?”
“We’ve got units watching his lawyer’s office and monitoring all communication from his cell block,” Bradley said. “If Jennifer tries to warn him, we’ll know.”
He pulled up another file.
“Marcus is being held in San Mateo County. Separate facility. No contact with Jennifer. But prison has ways of passing messages.”
“You think she’ll try?”
“If she’s smart, no,” Bradley said. “If she panics, yes.”
He closed the file.
“Either way, we’ll be ready.”
I stood up, legs unsteady.
“What do I do?”
“Go home,” Bradley said. “Stay with Eleanor. Make sure she’s safe.”
His expression softened slightly.
“And tomorrow at two p.m., pray your son can pull this off.”
The trap was set.
Twenty-four hours until we caught a killer—or lost our only shot at justice.
I walked out of Bradley’s office into the bright San Francisco afternoon, the fog just starting to roll in from the bay.
Tomorrow at two p.m., everything would change one way or another.
The next day, at exactly two p.m., Jennifer Morgan walked into the visitation room at San Francisco County Jail like she was walking into a boardroom she knew she’d dominate.
I watched from the observation room, Bradley beside me, heart pounding.
This was it.
Three weeks of planning.
Jason’s courage.
Our one chance to get Jennifer to incriminate herself on tape.
She looked perfect even in an orange jumpsuit.
Even after three weeks in jail, she’d maintained that ice-queen composure. Her hair was styled in a sleek ponytail. No makeup, but she didn’t need it.
Her face was a carefully constructed mask of controlled calm.
She sat down across from Jason with the confidence of someone who thought she still controlled everything, who thought her son was still her weapon.
Jason sat with trembling hands but clear eyes. Three weeks clean.
Bradley had coached him for hours, teaching him what to say, when to push.
But the fear in Jason’s eyes was real.
He was about to betray his mother, and some part of him still craved her approval.
He picked up the phone.
She picked up hers.
Her first word:
“Idiot.”
Jason flinched.
Beside me, Bradley’s hand landed on my shoulder, steadying me.
“Mom, I—”
“I told you to keep your mouth shut about the plan,” Jennifer snapped.
Her voice was pure ice.
“No matter what evidence they had, that was the deal, Jason. But you couldn’t do that one simple thing. You’ve always been weak.”
“But Mom, they had a photo.”
“I don’t care what they had,” Jennifer hissed.
She leaned forward, eyes blazing.
“Five years of planning. Five years. And you’re going to ruin it because you can’t keep your mouth shut for five minutes.”
Jason looked hurt, confused.
“I didn’t tell them anything important. I swear.”
“Then why am I in this prison jumpsuit,” Jennifer said, “instead of on a beach in Costa Rica drinking margaritas with Marcus?”
Her laugh was bitter.
Bradley was already writing.
“You told them enough,” Jennifer continued. “Just like your father—weak, pathetic, can’t keep anything to himself.”
I gripped the table edge.
Bradley squeezed my shoulder harder.
“Your father deserved to die for what he did to me in that divorce,” Jennifer said, control cracking.
“He took everything. The house I decorated. Half the savings I helped earn. My reputation when everyone found out about Marcus.”
“But you said it was about the insurance money,” Jason prompted.
“It was about justice,” Jennifer snapped.
She slammed her palm against the glass.
“Then one-point-two million that should’ve been mine anyway. But it was also about making Luke Henderson finally pay for ruining my life.”
She was spiraling now.
Bradley practically vibrated with tension.
“Mom,” Jason said carefully, “who’s Marcus? You never really told me.”
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering.
But her need to justify herself was stronger.
“Marcus Webb is my real partner,” she said. “A mechanical engineer with fifteen years of experience. When I told him about my problem with your father, about the insurance policy, Marcus helped me.”
“He built the device,” she said.
“The explosive. Professional-grade. Propane-based with electronic timing. It took him three months to design perfectly.”
She leaned forward.
“The placement in the basement. The timing at two a.m. when your father would be in deepest sleep. The gas leak that would look like an accident.”
Her eyes were wild now.
“It was perfect.”
Bradley wrote frantically.
Every word on tape.
“So you and Marcus planned everything,” Jason said.
“Of course we planned it,” Jennifer snapped.
“We spent six months setting this up. I spent that time working on you, Jason. Visiting every week, filling your head with what you needed to believe.”
She leaned closer.
“Your father abandoned you. Your father chose his bookstore over you. Your father is why you’re an addict.”
She laughed coldly.
“And you believed every word. You were pathetically easy to manipulate.”
Real tears ran down Jason’s face.
“You used me,” he whispered.
“I gave you a purpose,”
