Someone had kept her close enough to know where she was.
Someone had made sure she disappeared.
My phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
You have been asking about Elena.
A second message followed.
She has been asking about you.
Then a third.
Come alone if you want to know what happened to your father.
Attached was a location pin.
An abandoned roadside diner twenty miles outside town.
The message ended with four words.
Ask her about the river.
Denise read the screen over my shoulder.
"Don't go," she whispered.
"Why?"
"Because Elena was never afraid of Martin."
"Then who was she afraid of?"
Denise looked at me.
"Your father."
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then she stood and walked to the door.
"I have to go."
"You can't leave me with that."
"I've told you everything I know."
"No. You've told me everything you want me to know."
She paused.
"Maybe."
I followed her onto the porch.
"Denise."
She turned.
"Did my father hurt Elena?"
Her face went pale.
"I don't know."
"Then why did you say I shouldn't go?"
"Because if Elena is the one who sent that message, she won't be asking you to meet her because she wants to explain what happened."
"What does she want?"
Denise glanced toward the street.
"She wants to know whether you have the same thing your father had."
"What thing?"
But Denise was already walking away.
I looked down at the photograph again.
On the back, beneath the date, I noticed something I hadn't seen before. A tiny handwritten phrase had been almost completely erased.
I held it beneath the kitchen light.
Three words emerged.
HE TOOK THE KEY.
I turned the photograph over.
The girl in the yellow raincoat was holding a stuffed rabbit.
Its left ear was torn.
And tucked into the torn seam was something metallic.
A key.
I enlarged the photograph until the image became a collection of blurred squares.
The rabbit was old, probably handmade, with one button eye and a patch sewn over its stomach. Its left ear hung lower than the right. At first, I thought the metallic shape tucked inside the torn seam was a zipper pull.
Then I noticed its outline.
A key.
Not a modern house key. This one was long and narrow, with a round head and three deep cuts along its shaft. It looked like something designed for an old industrial lock.
I turned the photograph over again.
HE TOOK THE KEY.
The words had been written in pencil. Someone had tried to erase them, but the pressure of the original handwriting remained.
I called Denise.
She didn't answer.
I tried again.
Nothing.
Then I called Officer Bennett.
"I need you to look at something."
"What happened?"
I sent him the photograph.
A few seconds later, he called back.
"Where did you get this?"
"Denise brought it. It's Elena Ruiz. Look at the rabbit."
"I see it."
"There's a key sewn into the ear."
"How do you know?"
"Zoom in."
He was quiet for a moment.
"That could be anything."
"It's not. My father wrote that someone took the key."
"Listen to me. Don't try to identify it yourself, and don't go looking for that diner."
"You know about the message?"
"Denise called me."
I straightened.
"When?"
"About ten minutes ago."
"What did she say?"
"She told me you received an invitation to meet Elena."
"She also said my father might have hurt her."
Bennett didn't respond.
"Is that true?" I asked.
"I don't know."
"That's becoming everyone's favorite answer."
"It's the honest one. I'm trying to establish what happened twenty-two years ago, not manufacture a story that fits the evidence."
I looked at the photograph.
"Then help me find the lock."
"Bring the picture to the station. I'll have someone examine it."
"Can you find out what happened to the original rabbit?"
"How?"
"Ask Denise."
"I already did."
"And?"
"She said Thomas kept a box of personal belongings from the old pumping station. She believes the rabbit was in it."
"Where is the box?"
"That's what I'm trying to establish."
I looked again at the message on my phone.
Come alone if you want to know what happened to your father.
"Someone knows I have the photograph," I said.
"Yes."
"And they know I'm asking about Elena."
"Yes."
"Then this isn't just an invitation. It's a warning."
"Possibly."
"Or an attempt to get me somewhere."