OCTOBER 6, 1994.
My father's disappearance.
The night my mother had spent twenty-two years pretending was the night he died.
Outside, the dark sedan was gone. I had watched it leave shortly before four in the morning, its headlights sweeping across the curtains before disappearing down the street. I hadn't seen the driver clearly, but I had noticed something in the passenger window just before it pulled away.
A face.
Or perhaps only the reflection of a face.
Either way, I knew I had not imagined the car.
At seven, I called Officer Bennett.
He answered on the fourth ring.
"You'd better have a good reason for waking me up."
"Someone left three messages on my phone last night."
His tone changed. "What did they say?"
I read them aloud.
There was a long silence after the third.
"Don't go anywhere alone today," he said.
"I wasn't planning to."
"And don't play that recording until I've heard it."
"Why?"
"Because if someone is threatening you over a cassette, there's probably a reason they don't want its contents becoming public."
I looked at the recorder.
"Do you know who Daniel Ruiz was?"
Another silence.
"I know the name from the old Briar Glen investigation. Why?"
"Someone told me to ask Denise what happened to his daughter."
Bennett exhaled slowly.
"Where did you hear that?"
"An anonymous message."
"What's the daughter's name?"
"I don't know."
"Then I'll find out. Don't contact Denise until I call you."
He hung up.
I made coffee I didn't drink and opened my father's notebook again. The pages had become familiar, but I had not yet read every line. Some entries were written in such cramped handwriting that I had to tilt the book toward the window to make out the words.
On the final page, beneath a list of dates and measurements, I found a name.
ELENA RUIZ — AGE 9.
Below it, my father had written:
Her father was not the only person Harrow erased from the record.
I read the sentence twice.
Then I searched the notebook for the name.
It appeared four more times.
Elena saw the transport truck.
Elena knows about the second entrance.
Do not let Martin speak to Elena.
And finally, on a page dated September 28, 1994:
If anything happens to me, find the girl. She remembers what the adults have agreed to forget.
I took a photograph of the page and sent it to Bennett.
He called back less than ten minutes later.
"Where did you find that?"
"In my father's notebook."
"Listen carefully. Daniel Ruiz had a daughter named Elena. She would be around forty now. According to the old records, she moved out of the county in 1995."
"Where did she go?"
"That's the problem. There are no reliable records after that."
"She disappeared?"
"Not officially. Her mother reported that she had gone to live with relatives. The relatives denied having her. After that, nothing."
"Why wasn't anyone looking for her?"
"Because the report was closed as a family matter."
I looked at my father's handwriting again.
"Was it?"
"I don't know. But I'm going to find out."
Before he ended the call, I asked him one more question.
"Did Daniel Ruiz die in that chamber?"
Bennett did not answer immediately.
"The official report says he was hospitalized after an accident and later died from complications."
"Official report written by Harrow?"
"That's what I'm checking."
"Then maybe we should stop treating the official report as the truth."
"I never said I believed it."
He hung up.
At nine thirty, someone knocked on my door.
I looked through the window.
Denise Vale stood on the porch.
She was alone.
I opened the door but kept the chain attached.
"You told me not to trust you," I said.
"I did."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I found something."
She held up a small photograph.
It showed a girl standing beside a wooden fence, her dark hair tied into two uneven braids. She wore a yellow raincoat and held a stuffed rabbit under one arm. Behind her was a faded sign that read BRIAR GLEN CONSTRUCTION ACCESS.
"Elena Ruiz," Denise said.
I removed the chain.
"Where did you get that?"
"From Thomas's private files. He kept it in an envelope with your father's name on it."
"Why?"
"Because Thomas believed Robert had hidden something from him."
I studied the photograph.