PART 38: THE NAME ON SIDE TWO
No one spoke.
The words from the forensic analyst echoed inside Harold’s old office.
“…it’s someone who’s been in the room with you today.”
Every instinct I had made me look around.
Linda.
Janice.
Thomas.
Father Donnelly.
Dale.
Paula.
The sheriff.
Colleen.
Every face suddenly seemed unfamiliar.
Linda slipped her phone into her pocket.
“We’re not discussing this over the phone.”
The sheriff nodded.
“We’ll listen at the lab.”
“No,” I said.
Everyone turned toward me.
“No more running.”
“No more waiting.”
“No more strangers deciding when I learn the truth.”
I held up Harold’s restored cassette.
“We listen together.”
An hour later, we sat inside the state forensic laboratory.
The technician placed the repaired cassette into a restored player.
“The damaged section has been digitally reconstructed.”
He looked at me.
“Mrs. Ellis…”
“Are you ready?”
I wasn’t.
But I nodded anyway.
The tape began to turn.
Static filled the speakers.
Then…
Harold’s voice returned.
“If you’re hearing Side Two…”
“…then someone betrayed me after my death.”
Every person in the room leaned forward.
Harold continued.
“Don’t waste your time asking whether that betrayal was intentional.”
“Some people become traitors…”
“…without ever realizing they’re being used.”
Linda slowly lowered her notebook.
That wasn’t what any of us had expected.
Harold wasn’t talking about an enemy.
He was talking about someone who had been manipulated.
The tape rolled on.
“If you’re looking for a villain…”
“…look elsewhere.”
“If you’re looking for the person who unknowingly opened the door…”
“…keep listening.”
Paula reached for my hand.
I squeezed hers.
Harold took a slow breath.
Then he said the sentence that froze the room.
“The person I’m about to name never meant to hurt us.”
Janice closed her eyes.
Thomas stared at the floor.
Even the sheriff seemed afraid of what would come next.
Harold spoke one name.
“…Colleen.”
No one moved.
My sister looked as though every drop of blood had drained from her body.
She stood so suddenly her chair toppled backward.
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“No, Harold…”
“No…”
Tears streamed down her face.
“I didn’t know.”
She looked at me.
“Maggie…”
“I swear to you…”
“I never knew.”
Harold’s voice continued before anyone could speak.
“If Colleen is alive…”
“…don’t blame her.”
“She delivered something she believed was harmless.”
Colleen collapsed back into her chair.
“Oh, God…”
She buried her face in her hands.
“I remember.”
The room remained silent.
Linda spoke gently.
“What did you deliver?”
Colleen looked at me through tears.
“The casserole.”
I frowned.
“What casserole?”
“The week after Harold’s funeral.”
“I brought dinner.”
I remembered.
Chicken casserole.
Fresh bread.
Apple pie.
The entire family had come by that week.
Colleen shook her head.
“There was an envelope in the basket.”
“I thought it was from Harold’s accountant.”
“I never looked at it.”
“I left it on your kitchen counter.”
My heart skipped.
I remembered the envelope.
I had assumed it was another sympathy card.
I had never opened it.
“It disappeared the next morning,” I whispered.
Harold’s voice answered as though he had been sitting beside us.
“That envelope contained every name I had confirmed.”
“Someone removed it before Maggie ever saw it.”
The room fell silent again.
Colleen sobbed openly.
“I thought I was bringing you dinner…”
“I never imagined…”
Harold continued.
“The person who took that envelope…”
“…didn’t know everything.”
“But they knew enough.”
Linda leaned forward.
“Who?”
The tape hissed.
For several agonizing seconds, the recording distorted.
The technician quickly adjusted the audio.
Harold’s voice returned.
Fainter now.
Older.
Almost tired.
“Watch…”
Static.
Another burst of interference.
“…the funeral…”
More static.
Then one final clear sentence.
“The thief stood behind Maggie during my burial.”
The tape clicked to silence.
No one in the room breathed.
The technician slowly looked up.
“We enhanced the missing audio as much as we could.”
Linda stared at the silent recorder.
“The funeral…”
The sheriff was already reaching for his phone.
“I want every photograph and every minute of video from Harold Ellis’s funeral.”
The technician hesitated.
“There may be a problem.”
“What?”
He looked toward me.
“We already searched the archives.”
“And?”
“They’re gone.”
My heart sank.
“Gone?”
He nodded.
“Every official photograph from the funeral disappeared from county records…”
“…three days ago.”
