Chapter 6 - The Woman Who Never Reached the Diner
I didn't drive back to the restaurant.
Brooks wouldn't let me.
Instead, she sent officers to collect the photograph from Luis.
By evening, the image had been examined.
It showed a man lying in a hospital bed.
Dark hair.
Familiar profile.
A scar near his jaw.
Daniel.
Or somebody who looked remarkably like him.
The date on the print was after his funeral, but there was no verified capture date.
I stared at the image on Brooks's computer.
“Is that my husband?”
“We can't establish that from this photograph alone.”
“He had that scar.”
“Grace, the picture could have been altered.”
“Then prove it.”
The examiner enlarged the image.
The hospital wristband was partially visible.
Three letters.
D.M.
My stomach twisted.
Daniel Miller.
But Brooks pointed toward the window in the background.
The hospital architecture resembled Westhaven.
A private behavioral facility, not the emergency department that had handled Daniel's death.
“Somebody wants you to believe Daniel survived,” Brooks said.
I stared at her.
“Did he?”
She hesitated.
“We obtained the autopsy records. His identity was confirmed through dental records and DNA retained during the investigation.”
I closed my eyes.
“So he's dead.”
“Yes.”
The word hurt even though I'd known it for two years.
Brooks lowered her voice.
“The photograph is being used to distract you.”
“From what?”
She turned the screen toward me.
“From Emily.”
Emily's real name was Emily Lawson.
After Saint Catherine's, she'd been given a new identity and moved between several homes.
At twenty-one, she discovered that her birth certificate was fraudulent.
She spent years searching for her family.
Three weeks earlier, she'd contacted Aaron Reed.
Now she was missing.
At 8:06 that evening, investigators found her car behind a shuttered motel.
Her purse was inside.
Her phone was gone.
There were traces of blood on the driver's door.
And beneath the passenger seat, investigators found a folded sheet of paper.
A list of names.
Not eleven.
Twenty-three.
Beside each name was a dollar amount.
Some payments were labeled placement.
Others were labeled retention.
Three were marked termination.
I stared at the scanned document.
“What does termination mean?”
Brooks looked exhausted.
“We can't determine that from the label alone.”
I swallowed.
“Is Emily dead?”
“We haven't found her.”
The way Brooks said it made my stomach turn.
Then she continued.
“But we found something else.”
She opened another photograph.
A small storage locker.
Empty except for a cardboard box.
Inside the box was a woman's jacket, several notebooks, and a disposable phone.
“Emily rented it under an assumed name.”
I leaned closer.
One notebook lay open.
On the page, Emily had written:
Charles - second network.
Eleanor - first approvals.
Nathan - record cleanup.
Samuel - selections.
Thomas - fire.
Rebecca - forced signatures.
I stared.
Every major figure in the story appeared on the same page.
Except one.
Daniel.
I frowned.
“Why isn't Daniel listed?”
Brooks turned the page.
There it was.
Daniel Miller - outside investigator.
Underneath:
Contact died before delivery.
I gripped the table.
“Delivery of what?”
Brooks opened another photograph.
A torn envelope.
Its address was partially visible.
The recipient:
OFFICE OF THE STATE ATTORNEY GENERAL.
The same office Daniel had planned to contact.
My throat tightened.
“He was trying to deliver Emily's evidence.”
“That's one possibility.”
I shook my head.
“No. Emily contacted Aaron because Daniel never made it.”
Brooks studied the notes.
“That's plausible.”
I looked at her.
“Then Emily knew Daniel.”
“Maybe.”
A knock came at the door.
Another detective entered.
He whispered something to Brooks.
Her expression changed.
“What?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“Emily Lawson's body was found near the river.”
I couldn't move.
For a moment, the room seemed to tilt.
Aaron's photograph flashed through my mind.
The little girl with blond braids.
The child holding his hand.
The woman who'd spent years searching for her stolen name.
She'd finally found evidence.
And now she was dead.
Brooks took a breath.
“Grace, I know this is difficult.”
I looked at her.
“Difficult?”
My voice sounded strange.
Flat.
Almost calm.
“She was a child when they took her. She spent her whole life trying to find out who she was. And when she finally got close, somebody killed her.”
Brooks didn't answer.
I stood.
“I'm not waiting for another person to die.”
“Grace—”
“I'm going to find whoever did this.”
Brooks rose.
“You're going to help us find them. There's a difference.”
I looked at her.
She held my gaze.
“You have a daughter. Going after these people alone won't help Emily.”
I closed my eyes.
Lily.
My baby.
The reason I'd started all this.
Brooks stepped closer.
“Use what you know. Let us follow the evidence.”
I nodded reluctantly.
Then I noticed something on Emily's notebook page.
A date.
October 31.
Four days away.
Beside it were two words.
FINAL TRANSFER.
I pointed.
“What's happening on Halloween?”
Brooks leaned closer.
She studied the note.
Then she reached for her phone.
The answer came from Whitmore Medical Holdings.
On October 31, a private records management company was scheduled to assume custody of archived files from three former Whitmore facilities.
Saint Catherine's.
Westhaven.
And a children's hospital outside Albany.
The company was registered overseas.
Its officers were hidden behind corporate service providers.
The transfer had been authorized by Nathan Whitmore.
Brooks showed me the filing.
“They're moving the records.”
“Or destroying them.”
“Possibly.”
I looked at the date.
Four days.
Emily had found out about the transfer.
Daniel had tried to expose the same network.
Thomas had hidden the original recording.
Rebecca had been imprisoned.
And Eleanor had suddenly decided to give me the key.
Everything was happening now because the last physical evidence was about to leave the country.
I felt a flicker of understanding.
“They're not hunting me because Rebecca came back.”
Brooks looked up.
“They're hunting me because they think I can stop the transfer.”
She nodded slowly.
“That may be right.”
I thought about the watch.
The cassette.
The missing safety-deposit receipt.
And the one person who seemed to know where everything was.
Eleanor.
“She gave me the key because she needed Nathan distracted.”
“Distracted from what?”
“From the watch.”
Brooks frowned.
I leaned forward.
“Samuel has the watch. Eleanor knows that. If Nathan thinks I'm chasing the locker evidence, maybe he won't realize what Samuel has.”
Brooks considered it.
“Why would Eleanor want Samuel to keep it?”
I stared at the photograph.
“Because Samuel can prove what really happened at Saint Catherine's.”
“And?”
I swallowed.
“Because he can also prove Eleanor ordered the fire.”
Brooks was quiet.
Then she nodded.
“We need Samuel.”
At 11:17 p.m., I received an anonymous message.
A photograph.
Samuel sitting in a diner booth.
On the table was my father's watch.
The cracked glass faced the camera.
Beside it lay a white envelope.
On the front:
GRACE MILLER - COME ALONE.
Below the photograph was an address.
A roadside motel near the interstate.
And a message.
Bring the locker key.
I stared at the screen.
The key was still in police evidence.
Samuel knew that.
So why ask for it?
Then I saw the envelope more clearly.
A tiny red mark appeared near the lower corner.
A butterfly.
Daniel used to draw those on Lily's lunch notes.
I stopped breathing.
Samuel wasn't just holding Thomas's recording.
May you like
He had something Daniel left behind.
Something meant for me.
