I felt my knees weaken.
"My father?"
"The name matches. So does the approximate age."
"Was he alive?"
"According to the register, yes."
"Where did he go?"
"That's where it gets strange. The hospital transferred him to another facility two days later. The receiving hospital has no record of him."
"Which facility?"
"An institution called Northfield Recovery Center."
I had never heard of it.
"Does it still exist?"
"No. It closed in 2001."
"Why?"
"Financial problems, according to the public record."
"Who owned it?"
Bennett looked at me.
"Edward Mercer."
The lawyer.
Arthur Harrow's lawyer.
The same man who had told my mother to stop asking questions.
"Can we get the records?"
"We're trying. The original files were supposed to be transferred to the county archive, but the archive has no record of receiving them."
"Of course it doesn't."
"Don't start assuming every missing document was deliberately destroyed."
"How many missing documents do you need before you start assuming something?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he handed me a copy of my father's letter.
The paper was yellowed and brittle. The writing was unmistakably his.
My son,
If this letter reaches you, it means I failed to keep the matter away from you.
There are things I wanted to explain, but I could not do so while the people involved were still watching this family.
The key is not a key to the pumping station. It opens a service compartment beneath the old control room. Inside is a record of every transfer made through the drainage system during the Briar Glen construction.
The records will show who moved the material, when it was moved, and who authorized the work.
But there is something more important.
Daniel Ruiz did not die because of an accident. He discovered that the chamber was being used for something other than drainage. He tried to stop it.
I should have helped him sooner.
I made a promise to his daughter. I promised that I would bring her father home.
I broke that promise.
If you find Elena, don't ask her what she saw first. Ask her what she was carrying.
And if she tells you she gave the key to me, believe her.
Your father.
I read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
"Why did my mother keep this hidden?"
"She may not have known it existed," Bennett said.
"She found it in his coat."
"She said it was inside the lining. Someone could have put it there after your father disappeared."
"Who?"
"That's what we're going to find out."
I looked at the last paragraph.
Ask her what she was carrying.
The rabbit.
The key.
But the letter said my father had received it from Elena.
Denise had told me the girl was carrying it when the photograph was taken.
So why had someone written HE TOOK THE KEY on the back?
And who had taken it?
I looked at Bennett.
"Where is the old pumping station?"
He gave me a hard stare.
"You're not going there."
"I didn't say I was."
"Your expression did."
I put the letter down.
"Then tell me what we're doing next."
"We're going to find Elena Ruiz."
By late afternoon, Bennett had located an address connected to Daniel Ruiz's widow.
It was an old apartment building on the eastern edge of town, not far from the river. The building had been renovated several times, but the original brickwork remained visible around the windows.
The current tenant was a woman named Patricia Ward.
She had lived there for eleven years.
She knew nothing about the Ruiz family.
But when Bennett showed her the photograph of Elena, her expression changed.
"Where did you get that?"
"Do you recognize her?" he asked.
Patricia looked at me, then back at the photograph.
"I recognize the rabbit."
My heart began to pound.
"What do you mean?"
"I've seen it before."
"Where?"
"At the house across the street. An old woman lived there. She used to sit by the window with a stuffed rabbit on her lap."
"Was it this one?"
"I think so."
"What's her name?"
Patricia frowned.
"She called herself Mrs. Bell. I don't know if that was her real name."
"Is she still there?"
"No. She moved out about three months ago."
"Where did she go?"
"I don't know. But she left something behind."
Patricia disappeared into the apartment and returned with a small cardboard box.
"I found this in the basement after she moved. I was going to throw it away."