The Girl in Lincoln Park Who Knew the Name Marcus Had Buried

He did not answer.

Karen gave a tired nod.

“That’s what Grace said.”

Marcus moved into the study and called his attorney.

Evelyn Shaw answered on the fourth ring with the irritated voice of a woman who had been interrupted during something she valued.

“Someone had better be dead.”

“Possibly not.”

There was a pause.

“That is an unusual opening, even for you.”

“I need a private laboratory capable of kinship testing today.”

“A paternity test?”

“For two seven-year-old girls.”

“You have two seven-year-old girls?”

“I need the test.”

“Marcus.”

“I also need every accessible record connected to Grace’s autopsy, dental identification, hospital admission, delivery, death certificate, and estate.”

“Those files were reviewed seven years ago.”

“Review them again.”

“Why?”

“The woman buried under Grace’s name may not have been Grace.”

Evelyn did not speak.

Marcus heard a cupboard close on her end. When she returned, her voice had changed.

“Where are you?”

“Old Town.”

“Do not call anyone else. Do not move any document. Do not contact the medical examiner. Do not threaten a records clerk, a doctor, a funeral director, or whichever unfortunate person you currently suspect.”

“I haven’t threatened anyone.”

“You called me six minutes after discovering your dead wife may be alive. I am establishing boundaries early.”

“Bring someone to collect samples.”

“I know a physician who handles private matters, but chain of custody will be an issue if this becomes litigation.”

“Then handle it correctly.”

“Marcus, if a second child exists, this becomes more than a family matter. Custody, identity documents, schooling, medical records, potential abduction—”

“She was taken from a hospital.”

“You don’t know that yet.”

“I know what I was told.”

“That is the sentence that built half your problems.”

He almost ended the call.

Grace had liked Evelyn.

Marcus stayed silent until the impulse passed.

“Come here,” he said.

“I’ll be there within an hour.”

Victor called again.

Marcus watched the screen until it stopped.

He had been eleven when Victor first taught him to drive. His uncle took him to a vacant warehouse lot in a Buick so large Marcus could barely see over the hood. He taught him to turn toward a skid, never slam the brakes on ice, and keep both hands visible when police approached.

Your father teaches men how to obey him, Victor had said. I’ll teach you how to survive him.

Marcus’s father had been dead for twelve years. Victor had remained—uncle, adviser, witness, architect of every solution that arrived before Marcus learned to ask who benefited.

The message that followed the missed call was shorter.

We have a problem.

Marcus read it twice.

Then he wrote back.

Come to the Old Town house at two.

Victor replied immediately.

Alone?

Marcus looked through the open study door toward Jonah.

Yes.

When Evelyn arrived, she brought Dr. Samuel Reyes, a pediatrician with silver hair and the weary patience of someone accustomed to frightened children and wealthy parents.

He explained the swabs before opening the kits. Lily objected because she had already brushed her teeth that morning and thought the procedure implied poor hygiene. Emma did not object at all, which concerned him more.

Karen allowed Emma’s sample only after Evelyn wrote down the laboratory name, test numbers, courier service, and chain-of-custody procedure.

Marcus provided his sample last.

Dr. Reyes sealed the kits.

“The fastest reliable preliminary result may come tonight,” he said. “The formal report will take longer.”

Lily was sitting close enough to hear.

“What happens if Emma is my sister?”

The doctor looked at Marcus.

Marcus answered.

“Then we learn what she needs.”

“What if she isn’t?”

Emma’s shoulders drew inward.

Marcus chose his next words slowly.

“Then we still make sure she is safe.”

Lily seemed satisfied. Emma did not look up, but one of her hands loosened around the bear.

Evelyn waited until the doctor left with the samples.

“Victor is coming,” Marcus told her.

“That is a terrible idea.”

“I agree.”

“Then why did you invite him?”

“Because Grace’s letter named him.”

Karen looked sharply toward Marcus.

“You didn’t say he was coming.”

“You would have left.”

“Yes.”

“Which is why I didn’t say it.”

Evelyn removed her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Your approach to consent remains inspirational.”

“He cannot know Emma is here.”

Karen stood.

“He already knows.”

Every face turned toward her.

She reached beneath the neckline of her gown and pulled out a thin black device no larger than a coin. It had been taped against the inside seam.

“I found this in the cab after we left the park,” she said. “I thought it might be from the driver’s meter until it flashed.”

Jonah took it carefully.

“Tracker.”

Marcus’s stare settled on Karen.

“You waited until now.”

“I wanted to see whether you knew about it.”

“That endangered the girls.”

“Everything has endangered the girls.”

Jonah examined the device.

“This is short-range. It likely linked to a phone in the cab or nearby.”

“Can it identify who placed it?” Evelyn asked.

“No.”

“Then preserve it,” she said. “Do not smash it, burn it, or hand it to one of your technicians without documentation.”

Jonah placed it in an evidence bag from Dr. Reyes’s kit.

Karen folded her arms.

“Victor knows we’re in Chicago. Maybe he knows we found Marcus.”

Marcus looked at the clock. Twelve twenty-three.

“Then we use what he thinks he knows.”

Evelyn stepped between Marcus and the door, a gesture few people attempted.

“No.”

He regarded her.

“No what?”

“No confrontation without preparation. No trapping your uncle in a room. No private justice. If Grace is alive and missing, the priority is finding her. If Emma was removed from a hospital, the priority is preserving evidence and protecting the children. Your desire to look into Victor’s eyes while he lies is not a priority.”

Karen stared at Evelyn with something close to gratitude.