Chương 8
"Mr. Mercer," Officer Lena Ortiz said, lowering her voice, "I need you to understand that this is not an accusation."
Daniel looked at the photograph between them.
"It usually means it is."
The officer glanced toward the hallway, where the old house creaked softly in the morning cold.
"It means we are trying to figure out why your name came up."
Daniel finally reached for the photograph.
The picture showed the front steps of the abandoned Maple Street community center.
The building had been closed for almost eight years.
In the corner of the image, barely visible behind a cracked window, stood Daniel.
And he was holding something that had disappeared from the Mercer family before he was old enough to explain why it mattered.
The silver watch that belonged to his younger brother, Adam.
Daniel's thumb stopped halfway across the picture.
He had not seen that watch in twenty-three years.
"You think I stole this?" he asked.
Ortiz did not answer immediately.
That pause bothered him more than a direct accusation would have.
"No," she said.
"But someone wants us to believe you did."
Daniel placed the photograph back on the table.
Outside, a delivery truck stopped in front of the neighbor's house, and a man in a bright jacket carried boxes toward a porch.
The ordinary movement of the street felt almost insulting.
The world had continued while something buried inside Daniel's life had been dragged into daylight.
"Who found it?" he asked.
"A woman named Claire Voss."
The name landed harder than he expected.
He looked away.
Ortiz noticed.
"You know her."
Daniel walked to the sink and rinsed out the cold coffee.
The water ran longer than necessary.
"Everyone knew Claire."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only one I have right now."
Ortiz watched him carefully.
She was younger than he expected a detective to be, with tired eyes and a habit of pressing her pen against her thumb whenever she was thinking.
Daniel had learned to notice small things about people because small things were usually where people accidentally told the truth.
"You have a history with Maple Street," she said.
"Everyone in this town has a history with that place."
"Not everyone was photographed there the night before Adam Mercer disappeared."
Daniel turned off the faucet.
For a moment, the kitchen felt smaller.
The refrigerator hummed.
A clock above the doorway clicked forward one second at a time.
"Who told you that?"
Ortiz looked down at her notes.
"Claire Voss."
Daniel laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
"Of course she did."
"Why?"
"Because Claire has always been good at telling people the part of a story that makes her look like the only person who remembers the truth."
Ortiz studied his face.
"And what is the truth?"
Daniel wanted to answer quickly.
He wanted to say that Claire was lying.
He wanted to say the photograph was fake.
He wanted to say the past was dead and should have stayed buried.
Instead, he looked toward the living room where a cardboard box sat unopened near the wall.
The box had followed him through three houses.
Inside were things he could not throw away and could not bear to look at.
"I don't know anymore," he said.
That was the first honest thing he had said all morning.
The detective left thirty minutes later with a promise that she would call if she needed anything else.
Daniel stood at the window and watched her car disappear.
He expected relief.
It did not come.
The photograph had changed something.
Not because it proved anything.
Because it reminded him that someone else had been carrying the same secret.
He opened the cardboard box in the living room.
Dust rose from the old newspapers and letters inside.
At the bottom was a small wooden case.
He had avoided opening it for years.
Not because he had forgotten what was inside.
Because he remembered too clearly.
The case contained Adam's last birthday card.
A cheap card with a blue mountain printed on the front.
Daniel had kept it because Adam had written only six words inside.
"Don't let them decide for us."
At nineteen years old, Daniel had thought his brother was being dramatic.
Adam was always angry about something.
The town.
Their father.
The people who smiled in public and lied in private.
Daniel had wanted a quieter life.
Adam had wanted answers.
The night he disappeared, Daniel chose silence.
That choice had followed him longer than any person ever had.
His phone rang.
The screen showed an unknown number.
For several seconds, he watched it vibrate against the table.
Then he answered.
"Hello?"
Nobody spoke at first.
Only breathing.
"Who is this?"
A woman finally said his name.
Not Daniel.
Not Mr. Mercer.
The way she said it sounded like someone standing beside an old grave.
"Do you still have the watch?"
Daniel froze.
The room seemed to lose its air.
"Who are you?"
"You need to stop looking for Adam."
The call ended.
Daniel stared at the phone.
A sensible person would have called Ortiz immediately.
A sensible person would have stayed home.
A sensible person would have admitted that twenty-three years of pretending to move on had not actually solved anything.
Daniel had spent most of his life trying to be sensible.
It had not brought his brother back.
He grabbed his jacket.
Before leaving, he opened the wooden case one more time.
The birthday card sat beside another object he had almost forgotten.
A folded receipt from a repair shop on Maple Street.
The date was two days before Adam vanished.
At the bottom of the receipt was a name written in blue ink.
Claire Voss.
Daniel stared at it until the letters stopped looking like a name and started looking like a warning.
May you like
The name stayed on the receipt like it had been waiting for him all these years.
Daniel folded the paper carefully and placed it beside the watch card.
