The Examiner's Return: Autopsy of a Marriage

"Is that her, Mr. Thorne?" a gruff voice echoed down the steep drop.

"Yes. Oh God, yes, that is my wife." Marcus's voice broke perfectly on the final word.

I clung to a thorny shrub fifty feet below the jagged edge of the highway. Freezing rain slashed across my face, stinging my skin. My torn silk sleeve fluttered violently in the wind. Above me, the skeletal remains of my Mercedes burned, casting harsh orange shadows against the wet rocks.

"Take your time, sir," the police officer said. "We know it is a terrible shock."

I squinted against the glare of the police searchlights. Up on the asphalt, Marcus staggered toward a yellow stretcher. A body lay there, burnt beyond recognition, draped in the scorched remnants of my custom beige trench coat.

"I should not have let her drive in this storm," Marcus sobbed, burying his face in his hands.

"Did you find any skid marks?" the officer asked, turning to his partner.

"Barely," the second cop replied, shining his flashlight along the pavement. "Looks like she did not even try to brake. Just went straight through the barrier."

"Suicide?"

"Maybe. Or she hit a patch of black ice and panicked."

"She was upset," Marcus interjected, his tone heavy with fake sorrow. "We had an argument. She stormed out of the house and took the car. If I had just stopped her..."

"Do not blame yourself, Mr. Thorne. It was a tragic accident."

I dug my fingernails into the muddy embankment. Five years ago, I sat across a mahogany table and signed over my father's fifty-million-dollar trust fund to save Marcus from bankruptcy. He cried then, too. Tonight, he repaid me by severing my brake lines and sending me off a cliff.

Footsteps slapped against the wet pavement, cutting through the crackle of the fire. A black umbrella tilted into the searchlight's beam.

"Marcus, darling," a woman called out.

Margot. My former assistant.

"Officer, is it true? Is Elena dead?" she asked, her voice trembling with manufactured grief.

"Ma'am, this is a restricted area," a second cop warned, stepping into her path.

"It is okay, she is my sister-in-law," Marcus lied smoothly. "Margot, do not look. It is too gruesome."

Margot stepped closer, wrapping her free arm around his waist. "Oh, Marcus. I rushed here as soon as you called. You need to stay strong."

"She is really gone," Marcus whimpered, leaning into her embrace.

I stared up at Margot's throat. Resting against her pale skin, glowing in the artificial light, was my South Sea pearl necklace. The one my mother left me before she died.

Rain plastered my hair to my skull. I tasted warm copper. My teeth had bitten entirely through my lower lip.

"Did they find her phone?" Margot asked the officer, her tone dropping its sympathetic sweetness.

"Burnt to ash in the cabin," the cop answered, stepping away to inspect the skid marks again. "Everything inside was incinerated."

"Are you sure?" Margot pressed, taking a step toward the wreckage. "She always kept her purse in the passenger seat."

"The passenger side took the brunt of the fire, ma'am," the officer said firmly. "There is nothing left to recover."

"Good," Margot whispered to Marcus. The wind carried the faint sound down the sheer rock face. "Then there is no trace of the texts."

"The trust defaults to me tomorrow morning," Marcus muttered back, quickly wiping his dry eyes. "We are finally free."

"You handled the mechanic?" Margot asked, her voice barely audible over the rain.

"Paid him in cash yesterday," Marcus replied softly. "He is already on a flight to Mexico. No one will ever know."

I pressed my cheek against the wet earth. They thought they had won. They thought the charred corpse of the hitchhiker I tried to swerve around was me.

My left hand slipped from the wet branch, scraping against sharp stones before I found a new grip. With my right hand, I reached into the zippered pocket of my slacks. My frozen fingers brushed against a small, hard square of plastic.

The dashcam memory card.

I had ripped it from the console seconds before the car smashed through the guardrail. It held the audio of my phone call with the mechanic, confirming the brake lines were intentionally cut.

"Are you absolutely certain this is your wife, Mr. Thorne?" the first officer asked, returning to the stretcher. "The fire damage is extensive. We will still need dental records."

"Look at the coat," Marcus insisted, his voice rising in defensive anger. "I bought her that trench coat in Paris last month. And her height... it is Elena. Please, just cover her up. I refuse to look at her like this."

"Understood," the cop said. A zipper echoed over the wind as they closed the body bag. "We will transport the remains to the morgue. You should head home, sir."

"Thank you, officer," Marcus said, his voice returning to a weak tremble.

"Can we go home now?" Margot asked, tugging on Marcus's sleeve. "You are freezing."

"In a minute," Marcus replied. "I need to give my formal statement to the sergeant."

He walked away, leaving Margot standing alone near the edge of the cliff. She twirled the handle of her umbrella, a small smirk playing on her lips. She stepped past the yellow police tape, walking toward the twisted metal of the broken guardrail.

"What a mess," she muttered to herself, kicking a piece of shattered glass with her shoe.

She lowered her umbrella slightly, peering at the muddy grass near the precipice.

"What is that?" she whispered.

Margot crouched. Her manicured fingers pinched a small, glittering object from the dirt.

My diamond engagement ring.

The platinum band was smeared with my blood from when I smashed the driver's side window to escape the falling car.

Margot stood up. She did not call out to Marcus. She did not alert the police. Instead, she stepped to the very edge of the cliff. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the pitch-black void of the ravine.

She looked straight down toward the shadows where I hung.

I stopped breathing, my muscles locking into stone.