Chương 9
“I never met her then.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I don’t know.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“The source never identified themselves to me.”
“Male or female?”
“Written complaint first.”
“Then?”
“A phone call.”
My stomach tightened.
I had forgotten the voice.
No, not forgotten.
Filed it under useless.
“I spoke to the source once.”
Emily looked at me.
“Did you know it was Mom?”
“No.”
“Could it have been?”
“I don’t know.”
I hated the answer now as much as I had hated hearing it from Margaret.
Lena asked, “What did the caller sound like?”
“Young.”
“That’s vague.”
“It was twenty-eight years ago.”
“Accent?”
“Local.”
“Anything memorable?”
I closed my eyes.
There had been a payphone.
Not because I saw it.
Because the caller apologized for traffic noise and said the cord barely reached.
I had joked that at least nobody could accuse the bureau of glamorous informants.
The caller laughed.
A short laugh.
Then fear returned to her voice.
“She knew accounting.”
Emily’s lips parted.
“What did she say?”
“That the apparent overbilling wasn’t the real issue.”
“What was?”
“Money moving through subcontractors that didn’t perform work.”
Vane leaned against the wall.
“How much?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try.”
“Hundreds of thousands.”
“In 1996.”
“Yes.”
Margaret stared at the floor.
Lena asked, “Why did the complaint vanish?”
“The caller missed our next meeting.”
“Where?”
“A diner outside Cary.”
“Did you follow up?”
“Yes.”
“The number?”
“Disconnected.”
“Address?”
“None.”
“Employer?”
“She refused to give one.”
Emily’s eyes were wet.
“Did you look harder?”
The question was soft.
That made it worse.
“I had eleven active cases.”
She looked away.
I continued because stopping would have been cowardice.
“The complaint wasn’t assigned priority without documents or a cooperating witness.”
“So you dropped it.”
“I wrote the closure recommendation.”
The words tasted old and rotten.
Emily stared at the television again.
Lena asked, “What happened after that?”
“Nothing.”
Margaret said, “That’s not true.”
Every head turned toward her.
She rubbed her thumb across the clasp of her handbag.
“Carol left the company three days after your source failed to meet you.”
I felt the floor shift under me.
“You know the exact timing?”
“I remember because Richard accused her of stealing records.”
Vane straightened.
“What records?”
“Financial ledgers.”
“Did he call police?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Margaret gave him a look that was almost pity.
“You know why.”
Vane’s face hardened.
“Because the records would have created their own questions.”
Margaret did not answer.
That was another answer.
Emily whispered, “What happened to Mom?”
Margaret looked at her for a long time.
“Nothing happened to Carol.”
“You just said Richard accused her of stealing evidence.”
“I said records.”
“Don’t do that.”
Emily’s voice cracked.
“Don’t correct the word like that changes what happened.”
Margaret’s shoulders sank.
“She left.”
“And?”
“And years passed.”
“You knew who I was when Grant brought me home.”
“Yes.”
“Did Richard?”
“Yes.”
“Did Grant?”
“At first, no.”
Emily stared at her.
“When did you tell him?”
“I didn’t.”
“Richard did?”
Margaret nodded.
“When?”
“After your engagement.”
Emily laughed once, then winced from her ribs.
“So Mom told me because Richard told Grant.”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
Margaret looked exhausted.
“I wasn’t in every conversation.”
Lena’s phone vibrated.
She glanced at the screen.
Her expression changed immediately.
“What?”
She stepped into the corridor while answering.
I watched through the open door as she spoke in a low voice, asked two questions, then turned back toward us.
“Officers found the tunnel exit.”
Margaret stood.
“And Richard?”
“No.”
Lena came back inside.
“They found fresh tire tracks near the carriage property.”
“Vehicle?”
“Unknown.”
“Cameras?”
“They’re checking.”
She looked at Margaret.
“Your husband planned at least part of his exit.”
Margaret shook her head.
“You don’t know that.”
“There was a locked utility cabinet near the tunnel opening.”
“So?”
“It contained clothes, bottled water, cash, and a prepaid phone charger.”
Vane stared at her.
Margaret looked genuinely stunned.
“He kept an escape kit?”
Lena’s gaze stayed on her.
“That’s what it looks like.”
Emily whispered, “Why would he need that?”
No one answered.
Then Lena’s phone vibrated again.
This time she read the message twice.
She looked at me.
“They opened the safe.”
“What was left?”
“Not much.”
“What does that mean?”
“Empty folders.”
She paused.
“And one photograph.”
My mouth went dry.
“Of what?”
“Not what.”
Lena turned the screen toward me.
“Who.”
The image had been sent by an officer at the house.
It showed a faded photograph lying alone on the bottom shelf of Richard Whitmore’s safe.
Carol stood outside Whitmore Development’s old brick office, younger than I had ever known her.
Beside her was Richard Whitmore.
Between them, half hidden beneath Carol’s hand, was the same black document case Richard had carried into the tunnel.
On the back, written in Carol’s unmistakable handwriting, were four words and a date.
If he moves it, call Daniel.
I stared at the photograph until the hallway lights reflected off Lena’s phone and obscured Carol’s face.
“Zoom in.”
Lena did.
The handwriting sharpened.
There was no mistaking the slope of the D or the way Carol crossed her t with a line that leaned downward.
The date beneath the message was October 18, 1996.
Three days before my source failed to appear at the diner.
Emily whispered, “She knew you then.”
“No.”
My answer came automatically.
“She couldn’t have.”
Lena looked at me.
“Daniel.”
“I met Carol in 1998.”
“That isn’t what the note says.”
“It says my name.”
“Yes.”
“There are other Daniels.”
Margaret made a small sound.
Not quite a cough.
I turned toward her.
She had gone pale again.
“What?”
She looked at the floor.
“Margaret.”
Vane stepped away from the wall.
“You know something.”
She shook her head.
“You do.”
“I know what Richard told me.”
My voice hardened.
“Then tell me.”
“He said Carol had a contact with the state.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What contact?”
May you like
“He never gave me a name.”
“You just saw mine on the photograph.”
