Chương 8
“Nora may have copied it.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s dead.”
“That doesn’t make her less organized.”
“It makes asking her difficult.”
Elias looked down at his hands.
Nora had died on a wet interstate in Pennsylvania when a delivery van crossed the median. No conspiracy. No hidden driver. No punishment from Victor. Just rain, worn tires, and a twenty-two-year-old courier who had been awake for nineteen hours.
Daniel had spent the first year after her death searching for someone to blame and the second year resenting everyone who told him there was no one.
Elias cleared his throat.
“Did she keep a safe-deposit box?”
“No.”
“An attorney?”
“For the estate.”
“Cloud storage?”
“She hated the cloud.”
“Everyone says that until they need photographs.”
Daniel stared at him.
Elias raised an eyebrow.
“Nora’s phone,” Daniel said.
“You kept it?”
“In the storage unit.”
“Was it there after the break-in?”
“I don’t know.”
“You should.”
They drove to the storage facility.
Officer Parker had not sealed the unit because the earlier break-in had been reported as suspicious entry without confirmed theft. Daniel used his access code and raised the metal door.
Boxes filled the ten-by-fifteen space in neat columns. Nora’s handwriting labeled most of them.
WINTER CLOTHES.
KITCHEN—KEEP.
TOBY BABY BOOKS.
DANIEL’S THINGS HE PRETENDS NOT TO OWN.
Elias pointed to the last label.
“She had your number.”
Daniel ignored him.
The box containing electronics sat near the rear wall. The tape had been cut and replaced with clear packing tape instead of Nora’s brown paper tape.
Daniel put on gloves and opened it.
Inside were two old laptops, a digital camera, chargers, a cracked tablet, and the blue case that had once held Nora’s phone.
The case was empty.
Elias crouched beside him.
“Who knew it was here?”
“Celia. Me. The facility.”
“Did Victor know Nora kept old phones?”
“Victor knew Nora kept everything.”
Daniel searched the remaining boxes. He found tax returns, nursing textbooks, expired passports, Toby’s first shoes, and a bag filled with keys that opened nothing he recognized.
No phone.
Elias sat on an overturned milk crate.
“What model was it?”
“An old iPhone. Black. Cracked corner.”
“Passcode?”
“Her birthday.”
“She would not use her birthday.”
“She did after the accident with Toby.”
“What accident?”
“He locked her out of it by guessing codes. She changed it to something she could type while distracted.”
Elias looked toward the open storage door.
“Whoever took it needs the passcode.”
“Victor knew her birthday.”
“He knows everyone’s birthday. It makes people feel remembered.”
Daniel found a small plastic envelope beneath the electronics box. Inside was a receipt from a phone repair shop dated six weeks before Nora’s death.
Battery replacement. Data transfer.
The destination device was listed only by serial number.
“She bought another phone?” Elias asked.
“Not that I know.”
“Maybe she transferred data to a drive.”
Daniel examined the receipt. Nora had circled the name of the technician: JAMIE.
At the bottom she had written four numbers.
0417.
Daniel knew the number immediately. April seventeenth, the day they first met.
Not her birthday.
A passcode.
The phone repair shop still existed, though it had changed owners and moved two doors down in the same shopping center. The current manager found the old service record after Daniel showed Nora’s death certificate and identification.
“We don’t keep customer data,” the manager said. “Just repair notes.”
“What was the destination device?” Daniel asked.
The manager rotated the monitor.
“External drive. Customer provided.”
“Any description?”
“Blue, one terabyte.”
Elias stood beside a display of phone cases, pretending not to listen.
Daniel asked, “Who was Jamie?”
“Former employee. Jamie Marks.”
“Can I contact him?”
“Her.”
“Can I contact her?”
The manager hesitated.
Daniel took out his phone and showed a photograph of Toby in the hospital bed.
“This may concern evidence in an assault on my son.”
The manager’s expression changed.
“I can give your number to Jamie. I can’t give you hers.”
“That’s fine.”
They returned to the car.
Elias said, “Blue drive.”
“Don’t.”
“You see the pattern.”
“It could be any color.”
“It could.”
Daniel’s phone rang.
Celia’s name appeared.
He answered.
“Toby’s asking for you,” she said.
“I’m coming.”
“The hospital wants to discharge him, but Miriam says we can’t leave until the home inspection is finished.”
“The police are there.”
“I know. Daniel…”
“What?”
“Dad called me.”
“When?”
“Five minutes ago.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he forgives me.”
Daniel gripped the phone.
“For what?”
“For choosing you.”
Elias started the engine.
Celia continued, her voice shaking. “Then he asked if Toby remembered the blue light.”
Daniel looked at Elias.
“What blue light?”
“I don’t know. Toby heard him. He started crying.”
“Put the phone away from him.”
“I did.”
“Save the call log. Don’t delete anything.”
“I know.”
“Celia.”
“What?”
“Do not answer Victor again.”
She gave a small, bitter laugh.
“You sound just like him when you order people.”
The line went dead.
Daniel returned to the hospital to find Toby dressed in sweatpants and a sweatshirt beneath the open hospital gown. His forehead bandage had been replaced with a smaller one. The bruising looked darker.
Miriam stood beside the bed reviewing discharge instructions.
Toby looked at Daniel. “What blue light?”
Daniel sat.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Grandpa said you’d know.”
“Grandpa says things to scare people.”
“Did you do bad stuff?”
Celia stood by the window, her face turned toward the parking lot.
Miriam did not intervene.
Daniel looked at his son’s hands. The patient wristband remained around one wrist. The IV had been removed, leaving a square of gauze taped to his forearm.
“Yes,” Daniel said.
Toby’s eyes lifted.
“When?”
“Before you were born.”
“Did you hurt kids?”
“No.”
“Did you hurt grown-ups?”
Daniel felt every adult in the room become still.
“Yes.”
Toby looked down.
“Why?”
“Sometimes because I was angry. Sometimes because someone told me to. Sometimes because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t.”
“Grandpa?”
May you like
“Yes.”
“Did he push your head?”
