Chương 7
His exhaustion came through the phone.
"We need clean statements from her."
"I'm her father."
"Exactly."
The word irritated me.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're scared and angry, and those emotions can shape questions without you intending to."
I looked at Emily.
She was listening.
I lowered my voice.
"Fine."
"Tell me exactly what she said."
I repeated it as carefully as I could.
Martinez asked whether the sedan was ever parked at Jason's house.
I asked Emily.
She shook her head.
"He leaves it somewhere else."
"Where?" I asked.
Martinez cut in.
"Don't ask."
I clenched my jaw.
"She said he leaves it somewhere else."
"We'll follow up through the advocate."
"Great."
"You sound angry."
"My ex-wife is missing."
"I know."
"My daughter was locked outside."
"I know."
"Someone may be using my identity."
Silence.
That finally changed his tone.
"What?"
I told him about Daniel's call.
When I mentioned the copies of my driver's license, Martinez stopped interrupting.
"Do not contact Jason," he said when I finished.
"I don't have his number."
"Do not try to locate him."
"I wasn't planning to."
"Do not access Sarah's accounts."
"I can't."
"Do not throw away paperwork, devices, old tax records, anything with financial information."
"Okay."
"And send me Daniel Price's number."
"He already spoke to police."
"Send it anyway."
I did.
Before he hung up, I asked one more question.
"Did Sarah's car have anything in it?"
Martinez waited.
Then he said, "Her purse."
My heart sank.
"Phone?"
"No."
"Keys?"
"In the cup holder."
That made no sense.
"Why leave the keys?"
"We don't know."
"Was the car locked?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"We're working on it."
I pictured Sarah parking in a commuter lot, locking the car with a second key, leaving her purse behind, then walking away.
Or being forced away.
Or never being there at all.
"Any cameras?"
"Carter."
"Right."
"Stay home."
I hung up.
Emily was still watching me.
"They found Mom's car?"
I should have lied.
For half a second, I almost did.
"Yes."
"Was she in it?"
"No."
Her shoulders dropped a fraction.
"That's good."
"Maybe."
She stared at me.
"You say maybe too much."
"No, you won't."
There was no malice in it.
Just familiarity.
She lay down again.
I turned off the bedroom lamp but left the hallway light on as promised.
Within ten minutes her breathing slowed.
I sat beside the mattress until my legs cramped.
At eleven thirty, I made coffee I didn't need.
At midnight, I checked every lock again.
At twelve fifteen, I found myself staring at the porch through the dark living room window, waiting for a sedan to pass.
None did.
At one in the morning, my brother called for the third time.
I finally answered.
"Jesus, Mark."
"I know."
"No, I don't think you do."
His voice was thick with anger and sleep.
"Mom called me."
"How does Mom know?"
"Facebook."
I swore.
"What is on Facebook?"
"Nothing clear."
"What does that mean?"
"It means someone posted police cars at Sarah's place and people are doing what people do."
I rubbed my forehead.
"What are they saying?"
"Do you actually want to know?"
"No."
"Good."
He paused.
"Are you with Emily?"
"Yeah."
"Is she okay?"
"She's sleeping."
"You?"
"I made coffee at one in the morning."
"So no."
My brother, Chris, was three years younger and had spent most of his life treating emotion like a suspicious odor.
Hearing concern in his voice made everything feel worse.
"Can you come tomorrow?" I asked.
The question surprised both of us.
"Yeah."
"Morning."
"Don't bring Mom."
"I wasn't going to."
"She'll want to come."
"She can want things."
That almost made me smile.
I hung up and opened social media even though Chris had told me not to.
The neighborhood group was already full of speculation.
Police activity.
Possible child endangerment.
Missing homeowner.
Crime scene near pool.
One person claimed a body had been found.
Another claimed drugs.
Someone named Jason directly.
Then I saw my own name.
A woman I did not recognize had written that Sarah's ex-husband had been "seen entering the property by force."
The comment underneath said, "Custody dispute?"
My skin went cold.
Another person replied, "Wouldn't surprise me."
There was no name attached to that accusation that I knew.
Still, it felt personal.
I took screenshots, then stopped.
Martinez had warned me not to investigate.
But this wasn't investigation.
This was my life being turned into neighborhood entertainment.
I was about to reply when a message appeared from an unfamiliar account.
No profile picture.
No posts.
Just my name and one sentence.
You should have stayed out of the backyard.
I stared at it until the screen dimmed.
Then another message arrived.
Ask Sarah what happens to men who don't mind their own business.
I called Martinez immediately.
He told me not to respond.
"Can you trace it?"
"Possibly."
"That's Jason."
"Maybe."
"There you go with maybe."
"Carter."
"Sorry."
"Screenshot everything and email it to the address I'm sending you."
"Done."
"And lock your doors."
"They're locked."
"Keep your daughter away from windows."
My stomach tightened.
"Do you think he's nearby?"
"I think someone wants you frightened."
"Mission accomplished."
"Fear is useful if it makes you careful."
I walked toward the hallway.
Emily was still asleep.
Then Martinez said, "There's something else."
I stopped.
"What?"
"We found a partial print on one of the plastic bags from the pool."
"Jason's?"
"We don't have a confirmed comparison yet."
"Then why tell me?"
"Because we also found blood on one of the documents inside."
I pressed the phone against my ear.
"Whose?"
"Unknown."
"How much?"
"Enough to test."
I looked at Emily's closed bedroom door.
"Was it Sarah's paperwork?"
"One of the loan applications."
"With her name?"
"No."
His pause came again.
This time I already knew I was going to hate whatever followed.
May you like
"The application was in your name."
For a second, I stopped hearing anything except the refrigerator humming behind me.
