Chương 7
Tessa stayed with Mrs. Alvarez in the living room watching a cartoon with the volume turned low.
Every few minutes, she looked toward me.
I tried to look normal back.
It became exhausting.
Shaw came out of the bedroom carrying the file box.
“Is this it?”
“Yes.”
The lid had Claire’s handwriting on it.
Taxes 2023.
I felt stupid for not looking sooner and ashamed for wishing I had.
“Was it sealed before?”
“No.”
“Where was it?”
“Back of the closet.”
Shaw set it on the dining table and opened it.
There were tax records on top.
Old insurance forms.
A folder from Miles’s pediatrician.
Then, beneath a layer of ordinary paperwork, a stack of prepaid debit card receipts.
Shaw picked one up.
“Recognize this?”
“No.”
The receipt showed five hundred dollars loaded onto a card at a grocery store.
There were more beneath it.
Different dates.
Different stores.
The amounts varied.
Three hundred.
Four hundred.
Six hundred.
“You said she was withdrawing cash,” Shaw said.
“I thought she was.”
“Maybe some of it went here.”
“For what?”
She did not answer.
Under the receipts was a cheap spiral notebook.
Claire’s handwriting filled most of it.
Dates ran down the left margin.
Beside them were initials.
Amounts.
Street names.
Short phrases.
Asked again.
Wouldn’t answer.
Said I imagined it.
Ryan thinks Susan knew.
P.C. moved after Tulsa.
R says stop asking questions by text.
I pointed at the last line.
“R.”
Shaw nodded.
“That could matter.”
“Could?”
“It could also refer to Ryan.”
“He says it doesn’t.”
“He may be telling the truth.”
“You don’t believe him.”
“I don’t get paid to believe people quickly.”
She turned another page.
A sentence had been written three times, each version darker than the one before.
Find Leah Brennan.
Shaw stopped.
“Do you know that name?”
“No.”
“Ryan?”
“I never heard it.”
She photographed the page.
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I was beginning to hate that phrase.
Shaw flipped farther.
Several pages had been torn out.
The remaining paper showed deep impressions from whatever had been written above.
One technician brought over a light and angled it across the surface.
Letters emerged faintly in the grooves.
Shaw bent closer.
I read them upside down.
S-U-E.
Then beneath that, perhaps a date.
Then another word.
Caldwell.
My stomach tightened.
“Can you recover that?”
“Probably enough to identify parts.”
“What did she tear out?”
“We’ll find out if we can.”
Miles squirmed in my arms.
I shifted him to the other hip.
His eyelids were getting heavy.
Shaw closed the notebook.
“Grant, do you have somewhere safe the kids can stay tonight?”
“My sister lives in Norman.”
“Does Claire know the address?”
“Of course.”
“Then no.”
“Mrs. Alvarez?”
“Too close.”
“I’m not taking them to a hotel.”
“I didn’t suggest a hotel.”
“Then where?”
“An address connected to law enforcement that won’t be on your normal family radar.”
I looked at her.
“You mean a safe house?”
“I mean a temporary place where you can sleep and where we can control access.”
“I’m not leaving Claire.”
“You are not helping Claire by keeping your children in a location somebody has already approached.”
My jaw tightened.
“I should be looking for her.”
“You should be with your children.”
The sentence hit harder because it echoed what Tessa had needed hours earlier.
Before I could answer, Palmer came in from the porch.
“Detective.”
Shaw looked at him.
He held out his phone.
“We got the plate on the vehicle from the traffic camera.”
She took it.
“What vehicle?”
“The one following Claire’s car.”
I stepped closer.
Shaw read whatever was on the screen.
Her expression sharpened.
“Registered owner?”
“Company lease.”
“To?”
“Caldwell Senior Care Services.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
Ryan had said his mother lived in memory care.
Shaw asked, “Facility address?”
Palmer told her.
It was in northwest Oklahoma City.
“Is that where Ryan’s mother is?”
I asked.
Shaw looked at Palmer.
He checked his notes.
“Yes.”
The name on the notebook page seemed to rise in my mind.
P.C.
Philip Caldwell.
“What is Caldwell Senior Care?”
Shaw was already moving toward the door.
“We’re checking.”
“Who owns it?”
Palmer looked at his phone again.
“Managing member is listed as Daniel Caldwell.”
“Who is Daniel?”
Neither officer answered immediately.
Then Shaw said, “According to Ryan Mercer’s statement, Daniel Caldwell is Philip Caldwell’s son.”
I stared at her.
“Claire’s brother?”
“Not biologically.”
“But somebody she grew up with?”
“We don’t know.”
A fresh wave of nausea rolled through me.
“Was he the man at my house?”
“We don’t know.”
“Was he in the car with her?”
“We don’t know.”
“Is he R?”
“We don’t know.”
I laughed once.
It sounded wrong in my own ears.
Shaw let me.
Then her phone rang.
She answered with her name.
Her eyes moved to mine while she listened.
“How long ago?”
Another pause.
“Secure it and send me the coordinates.”
She hung up.
The room had gone quiet around us.
Even Tessa’s cartoon seemed softer.
“What?”
Shaw slipped the phone into her pocket.
“Claire’s car was found.”
“Where?”
“Parking lot near Lake Hefner.”
“Is she there?”
“No.”
“What was in the car?”
Shaw hesitated.
That hesitation frightened me more than anything she had said.
“Her regular phone.”
I waited.
“And?”
“A child’s backpack.”
Tessa stood up from the couch.
“My backpack?”
Nobody answered her quickly enough.
Her face changed.
“My purple one?”
Mrs. Alvarez reached for her.
Tessa stepped away.
“It was in my room.”
I looked at Shaw.
“Why would Claire have Tessa’s backpack?”
Shaw’s gaze stayed on my daughter.
“Tessa, when did you last see it?”
“This morning.”
“Where?”
“By my desk.”
“Did your mom take anything from it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tess,” I said gently, “think.”
She pressed both hands against her temples.
Then she froze.
“My school picture.”
“What school picture?”
“The class one.”
“Why would Mom take that?”
Tessa looked at me, suddenly terrified.
May you like
“She didn’t.”
The room tightened around her answer.
