Chương 5
Rachel grabbed my wrist.
Neither of us said anything.
They brought Melissa up at 6:16.
I barely recognized her.
She had lost weight.
Her dark hair was tangled around her face.
There was dried blood along one side of her forehead and bruising around both wrists.
She wore gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt I had seen her wear in my kitchen.
Her feet were bare.
The moment she saw me, she recoiled.
The paramedics nearly lost their grip on the stretcher.
“No.”
Her voice rose.
“No, no, keep him away.”
I stopped.
Rachel moved instinctively between us.
One officer looked at me.
“Sir, stay where you are.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Melissa began shaking.
“I told you.”
The words were directed at someone else.
Maybe the paramedic.
Maybe herself.
“I told you he’d say that.”
I felt every person in the room turn toward me without physically moving.
“What are you talking about?”
The older officer stepped closer.
“Mr. Hale, don’t engage with her right now.”
“She was in my wall.”
“We know.”
“I called you.”
“We know.”
Melissa started crying again.
Then she saw Ethan.
Her face changed.
All the fear drained out of it and left something worse.
Guilt.
“Oh, baby.”
Ethan buried his face against my chest.
Melissa covered her mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
Rachel said, “Sorry for what?”
The officer told her to step back too.
Melissa twisted toward Ethan despite the straps holding her to the stretcher.
“Is he okay?”
I could not stay quiet.
“What did you do to my son?”
Her eyes met mine.
“He heard her.”
The room seemed to disappear around that sentence.
“Who?”
Melissa looked toward the stairs.
“Your wife.”
One of the paramedics checked her pulse again.
I said, “Claire never lived here.”
Melissa’s eyes closed.
“I know.”
The front door opened wider as another officer entered.
Nobody introduced him.
He wore plain clothes and carried a badge clipped to his belt.
The older officer spoke quietly to him near the kitchen.
I caught only fragments.
Hidden room.
Unlawful confinement.
Victim known to homeowner.
The plainclothes officer glanced at me twice.
Melissa was moved toward the ambulance.
As they passed the playpen, Ethan lifted his head.
“Baby down.”
Melissa stopped breathing for a second.
The paramedic noticed.
“What did he say?”
Nobody answered.
Melissa stared at Ethan.
“Where did he learn that?”
I stepped forward.
The officer blocked me with one arm.
“You know what he means,” I said.
Melissa began struggling against the stretcher straps.
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“What is down there?”
Her eyes went to the basement door.
Then to Ethan.
Then back to me.
“He showed you?”
“Who?”
She turned her face away.
The paramedics took her outside.
I followed until the plainclothes officer stopped me on the porch.
“I’m Detective Warren.”
“My babysitter was locked inside my house.”
“I understand what you found.”
“No, you don’t.”
His expression did not change.
“She’s afraid of me.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never touched her.”
“We’ll sort through that.”
“That sounds like you think I did.”
“It sounds like I’m not making conclusions on your porch.”
That irritated me because it was reasonable.
Behind him, Melissa’s stretcher was loaded into the ambulance.
Our neighbor had acquired company.
Two more people stood across the street now.
One held a phone.
I suddenly became aware that I was barefoot.
Detective Warren asked how long I had owned the house.
“Fourteen months.”
“Any renovations?”
“Before we moved in.”
“Who did them?”
“A contractor.”
“Name?”
I gave it.
“Did you know about the concealed passage?”
“No.”
“Any idea how Ms. Carter got inside?”
“No.”
“When did you last see her?”
I told him.
He asked for my phone.
I hesitated.
“Why?”
“So we can preserve your messages with her.”
“I can show them to you.”
“I’d prefer the device.”
Rachel appeared behind me.
“Does he need a lawyer?”
Warren looked at her.
“That’s his decision.”
That was the moment the situation changed shape.
Until then I had been the homeowner who discovered a victim.
Now I was a man whose missing babysitter had been found imprisoned behind his basement wall, afraid of him, while police stood inside the house where my child slept.
I handed Warren my phone.
Rachel muttered, “I wouldn’t have done that.”
“I have nothing to hide.”
“That has never stopped anybody from needing a lawyer.”
Warren heard her.
He did not comment.
An officer came outside carrying a clear evidence bag.
Inside was a pink plastic hair clip.
I recognized it.
Claire had owned dozens like it because she hated hair falling into her face when she cooked.
The officer showed it to Warren.
“Found at the bottom of the passage.”
I stared.
“That’s my wife’s.”
Warren looked at me.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Rachel stepped closer.
“Claire had one like that.”
“No.”
I pointed through the plastic.
“There’s a crack on the left side.”
I could see it clearly.
Claire had broken that clip the week before Ethan was born and complained when I tried to throw it away.
She said broken things were not automatically garbage.
I had teased her about becoming sentimental over ninety-nine-cent plastic.
Warren asked, “Where is your wife now?”
Rachel made a small sound.
I answered.
“She died last year.”
His face changed by only a fraction.
“Where?”
“St. Vincent’s.”
“When?”
I gave him the date.
The officer holding the evidence bag glanced toward the house.
Warren noticed.
“What?”
The officer lowered his voice.
“There’s more.”
Warren waited.
“We got through the basement partition.”
I could barely hear him over the ambulance engine.
“There’s an old service corridor running under the north side of the house.”
“And?”
The officer swallowed.
“At the far end there’s a room.”
Warren’s gaze sharpened.
“What kind of room?”
The officer looked at me before answering.
“Looks medical.”
Every hair on my arms lifted.
Warren asked, “Medical how?”
“There’s an old hospital bed.”
Rachel grabbed the porch railing.
The officer continued.
“IV stand.”
He paused.
May you like
“Cabinets.”
Then he looked directly at me.
