Chapter 2 The House on Ashcroft Drive
The Mercer residence sat at the end of a quiet street lined with maple trees that had already begun to lose their leaves.
By the time Adrian parked outside, the sun had climbed above the rooftops, though the morning still carried the damp chill left behind by the night's rain.
He remained in the car for a moment, the case file resting on the passenger seat.
This part of the job never became easier.
He picked up the folder, stepped out, and walked to the front door.
A child's bicycle lay on its side near the porch. A football rested beneath a garden bench. Nothing about the house suggested tragedy was waiting behind the door.
He knocked. No answer.
He waited, then knocked again.
Footsteps approached.
The door opened just enough for a woman in her late twenties to look through the gap.
She looked tired.
"Can I help you?"
Adrian held up his badge.
"Mrs. Mercer?"
"Yes."
"I'm Detective Adrian Cross."
Her expression shifted.
"Is something wrong?"
Adrian had delivered this sentence more times than he cared to remember.
It never sounded any easier.
"I'm afraid I have some difficult news."
Colour slowly drained from her face.
"May I come in?"
She stepped aside, her face tightening.
Adrian sat down and folded his hands.
"Is this about my husband?"
"When was the last time you saw your husband?"
"Yesterday morning. What happened?"
"Mrs. Mercer, I'm very sorry to tell you this. Your husband was found dead early this morning."
She shook her head before he had said another word.
"No, you've made a mistake."
"I'm sorry."
"No..."
Her voice cracked.
"My husband left for work yesterday. He was supposed to be home by dinner."
She stared at Adrian as though waiting for him to correct himself.
When he didn't, her knees gave way.
Adrian caught her before she hit the floor.
"I'm sorry."
Those were the only words that felt honest.
Several minutes passed before she was able to sit on the sofa with a glass of water in her hands.
The living room was warm and neatly kept.
Family photographs covered one wall.
In every single one, Daniel Mercer was smiling.
A little boy wandered into the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Mom?"
He couldn't have been older than six.
Mrs. Mercer quickly wiped her face.
"Sweetheart, can you go back upstairs for a little while?"
The boy looked from his mother to Adrian.
"Is Dad home?"
Silence settled over the room.
Mrs. Mercer forced a smile that lasted only a second.
"Not yet."
He nodded and quietly disappeared back upstairs.
The moment he was gone, she buried her face in her hands.
Adrian looked away.
He had learned long ago that grief deserved privacy, even when shared.
After a while, she took a slow breath.
"What happened?"
"We're still investigating."
She stared at the untouched glass in her hands.
"Were there any problems recently? Arguments? Threats?"
She shook her head.
"No. My husband hardly gets into any kind of trouble."
"Did he seem worried about anything?"
"No".
"Did he mention meeting anyone or receiving any unusual calls?"
Again, she shook her head.
"He'd been stressed about a presentation this week, but that's normal."
Adrian opened his notebook.
"What time did he leave home yesterday?"
"A little after eight."
"What was he wearing?"
She described the same charcoal overcoat and dark sweater found at the crime scene.
Everything matched.
"Did he take anything with him?"
She thought for a moment.
"His phone."
"What else?"
"His wallet."
Adrian's pen stopped moving.
"His wallet? Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"And?"
She frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"A watch."
She looked puzzled.
"Daniel didn't wear watches."
Adrian slowly raised his eyes from the notebook.
"Never?"
She gave a small laugh through her tears.
"He hated them."
"He never owned one?"
"He did."
"What happened to it?"
"It broke years ago."
She pointed toward a framed family photograph.
"He said watches made him feel like he was chasing time instead of living it."
Adrian followed her gaze.
In the photograph, Daniel's left wrist was bare.
Every other picture on the wall showed the same thing.
Not one photograph showed him wearing a watch.
Adrian quietly closed his notebook.
The silver watch recovered from the alley hadn't belonged to Daniel. Someone had left it there.
The question was why.
Adrian rose from the sofa and closed his notebook.
"I know this isn't the right time," he said quietly, "but if you remember anything at all, no matter how small, call me."
Mrs. Mercer nodded weakly.
"I will."
He handed her his card before walking to the front door.
"I'm truly sorry for your loss."
She managed a silent nod.
As Adrian stepped outside, the front door closed gently behind him.
The morning had grown brighter.
Children rode bicycles further down the street, and delivery vans rolled past.
He stood beside his car for a moment before reaching into his coat pocket.
The evidence bag crinkled in his hand.
Inside it lay the silver wristwatch recovered from the alley.
He turned it over absentmindedly. Something caught the light.
There was an engraving on the back. Almost invisible.
He held it closer.
To D.M. Keep your promise.
Adrian frowned.
"D.M."
Daniel Mercer.
It fit.
He looked back toward the house.
Mrs. Mercer had answered every question without hesitation.
She hadn't sounded uncertain.
She had sounded convinced.
Daniel hated watches.
He had stopped wearing them years ago.
The family photographs on the living room wall told the same story.
Not one showed a watch on his wrist.
Adrian looked at the evidence bag again.
If the watch belonged to Daniel, his wife was wrong.
If his wife was telling the truth, then someone had placed the watch beside the body after Daniel was killed.
Adrian slipped the watch back into the evidence bag.
Daniel had left home with his wallet.
It was gone.
A watch his wife insisted he never wore had been left beside his body.
One item had been taken.
Another had been left behind.
Neither made sense.
Adrian slipped the evidence bag onto the passenger seat and started the engine.
Instead of driving away,he reached for his phone and placed a call.
"Officer Mills,this is Detective Cross."
"I need everything you can find on Daniel Mercer," he said as he drove into the street.
If the killer had planned every detail of that crime scene, then Daniel's life had been planned too. Adrian
wasn't looking for answers anymore. He was looking for the first lie.
He wasn't driving back to the station.
There was one place he needed to visit first.
Daniel Mercer's office.
