Chương 3
She stood up.
"Mr. Harper, your daughter is sixteen."
"I know."
"Teenagers share passwords."
"I know."
"Sometimes they do things without telling their parents."
"I know."
Her voice softened slightly.
"This is the part where you need to understand that the person responsible may not be some stranger hiding in the shadows."
The words hit exactly where she intended.
Not because they hurt.
Because they were logical.
The easiest person to blame was an outsider.
A stranger.
A monster with no connection to us.
But sometimes danger came from people who knew where the spare key was.
People who knew your child's schedule.
People who knew what door would open.
I walked toward the kitchen but stopped before crossing the tape line.
"She never brought anyone here without telling me."
Ruiz looked at the floor.
"She was sixteen."
I almost argued.
Then I stopped.
Because I remembered being sixteen.
I remembered believing my parents knew less than they did.
I remembered thinking privacy and independence were the same thing.
The difference was that my mistakes had never put me in a hospital bed.
"Who have you talked to?" I asked.
"School officials."
"Friends?"
"Some."
"Some?"
"Your daughter had a social circle."
The way she said it made my attention sharpen.
"What does that mean?"
"It means people at school are giving us different versions of who Violet was spending time with."
That sentence stayed between us.
Different versions.
I looked toward the stairs.
"Tell me."
Ruiz sighed.
"I can't give you everything right now."
"Why?"
"Because you are her father."
That answer surprised me.
"That is exactly why."
"It is also why I don't want you acting before we know what we're dealing with."
I almost smiled.
It was the first time in hours someone had spoken to me like a person instead of a weapon.
"I don't act without information."
Ruiz looked at the hallway.
"Your daughter would probably disagree."
That caught me off guard.
"You know her?"
"I met her once."
"When?"
"Last month."
"Why?"
"School incident."
My stomach tightened.
"What incident?"
Ruiz opened her notebook.
"Violet was questioned after a fight between students."
"She was in a fight?"
"No."
"Then why was she questioned?"
"Because she was recording it."
I stared at her.
"Recording it?"
"She said she wanted proof."
"Proof of what?"
Ruiz looked at me.
"That another student was being bullied."
The answer created a strange mixture of relief and fear.
That was Violet.
Always stepping into situations she thought were unfair.
Even when nobody asked her to.
Even when it cost her.
"Who was being bullied?"
"A girl named Mia Carter."
I recognized the name.
Not because I knew the girl.
Because I had seen it on Violet's phone before.
Months earlier, she had been typing a message while sitting at the kitchen counter.
When I asked who it was, she flipped the phone over and said, "Nobody."
Teenagers had a talent for making innocent questions sound like accusations.
I had let it go.
I had told myself I was respecting her privacy.
Now I wondered if I had simply missed something.
"Where is Mia now?" I asked.
Ruiz studied my face.
"At home."
"Has anyone talked to her?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"She says Violet was trying to expose someone."
"Someone?"
"She didn't give a name."
The detective looked toward the staircase.
"Mr. Harper, there is something else."
I waited.
"Your daughter's phone is missing."
The room became quieter.
Not actually quieter.
The refrigerator still ran.
The officers outside still moved.
A car passed on the street.
But the important sounds disappeared.
"Missing?"
"We found her laptop."
"Her phone?"
"Not in the house."
"Was it taken?"
"We don't know."
I looked at the floor where Violet's backpack had been.
"The attacker took it."
Ruiz did not immediately agree.
"We are considering that possibility."
"Why else would it disappear?"
"Because teenagers lose phones."
"My daughter was attacked and her phone disappeared."
"I know."
The way she said it told me she was thinking the same thing.
But thinking was not proving.
Outside, the sun finally came up over Maple Drive.
The neighborhood that had watched my family fall apart was beginning another normal day.
A man walked his dog.
A woman loaded groceries into her car.
A teenager rode a bicycle toward the school bus stop.
Nobody looked like they belonged to the worst day of my life.
That was one of the hardest things about tragedy.
The world did not stop to honor it.
It kept moving.
I stood in the kitchen and saw a paper bag sitting on the counter.
Inside was a small birthday decoration.
A cardboard sign that said sixteen.
Violet had probably hidden it because she knew I would find it if she left it somewhere obvious.
She always pretended she hated surprises.
She never did.
My phone buzzed.
A message from the hospital.
The doctor wanted to speak with me.
For a moment, I forgot about the house.
Forgot about the investigation.
Forgot about the person who had done this.
Because before I could hunt anyone, I had to know whether my daughter was going to survive.
At the hospital, the doctor met me near the intensive care unit.
His expression was careful.
Doctors learn how to deliver hope without making promises.
"She responded to stimulation this morning," he said.
I grabbed the back of a chair.
"What does that mean?"
"It means her brain is showing activity we are encouraged by."
"Is she awake?"
"Not yet."
The disappointment arrived before I could stop it.
The doctor noticed.
"Mr. Harper, recovery is not a straight line."
"I know."
"Do you?"
The question was gentle.
Not judgmental.
I looked through the glass toward the room where my daughter lay surrounded by machines.
"No," I admitted.
"I don't."
The doctor nodded.
"That honesty will help you."
I almost laughed.
Honesty had not helped me much in the last twelve hours.
May you like
But maybe it was the only thing I had left.
When I finally entered Violet's room, I sat beside her bed and looked at the girl who had once fit inside one arm when I carried her through our apartment after she fell asleep watching movies.
