Wherever She Goes(58)

“I have the day off,” I say.



We sit outside at the ice cream parlor and watch Charlotte on the play equipment while we talk. She ate half her ice cream and then wanted Mommy to come play, but as soon as Paul said he needed to speak to me, she zoomed off.

“That was easy,” I say. “The last time I tried to get her to play alone, you’d have thought I was sentencing her to a year of solitary confinement.”

“She’s just happy to see us . . .” He shrugs.

“Together.” I glance over at her, and she’s climbing while smiling at us like a grown-up watching her kid on a date. “Do you think we’re giving her . . . I don’t want to . . .”

“She’s fine, Bree. Now tell me what happened.”

I do, leaving out the part about Ingrid.

“I thought it was the sitter sending the video,” I say, “or I’d have looked at it sooner.”

“Honestly, that’s what I thought too, when I first saw it.”

When I blink, he makes a face. “Sorry, did I mention I’m not running on all cylinders?” He takes out his phone. “I got the same video.”

“What?”

He shows me. It was sent a few minutes after mine, while he’d been in court. He didn’t see it until after he got my message. The text accompanying his reads: Your ex is sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Tell her to stay out of our business, and we’ll stay out of yours.

My gut twists. “I’m sorry, Paul. I’m so—”

“Stop. You did nothing wrong, Aubrey. You were trying to help a little boy, and I don’t know what Zima’s problem with you is.”

“He thinks I know more. Somehow he’s found out I’m investigating, and he isn’t buying my story that I made a mistake about Brandon.”

“Did you report the video?”

“I wanted to. I called my police contact but got her voice mail. Now I’m wondering if my contact is the one who’s telling Zima that I know more. She’s the only person who realizes I know more.” I exhale. “And I’m being paranoid thinking that, aren’t I? Suspecting a cop of being in a mobster’s pocket.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time, unfortunately. It’s rare, but yes, if you give me a name, I’ll run a few discreet checks.”

I give him Laila’s name and everything I know about her. Then we discuss the video itself. I’d asked the sitter if she’d seen anyone videotaping in the park. She hadn’t.

“From what I can tell,” I say, “it was taken from the east end of the park. There’s new construction there, so I’m wondering if whoever filmed it was tucked in there, out of sight—”

My phone rings. It’s Ellie Milano again. I motion to Paul that I’m going to take it, and he nods and then heads over to watch Charlotte.

“It’s Ellie Milano,” she says when I answer. “You called me yesterday about Brandon.”

She said his name. She actually said his name. Please tell me that means she knows he exists—and she’s not parroting back the name I used.

“Who are you?” she asks.

Now I hesitate. Two days ago, I’d have given my name, address and whatever else would convince her that I wasn’t some crank. That’s changed. I glance at my daughter, running to jump into Paul’s arms. That has to change.

“I’d rather not say,” I say. “I’m sorry, but getting involved in this has caused trouble for my own family. I’m going to ask you to call the Oxford Police Department. I reported seeing Brandon to them. They have no evidence to corroborate my story, so they aren’t looking for him, and the fact that you told them he doesn’t exist really didn’t help.”

“Wait!” she says, as if expecting me to hang up. “I’m sorry. I’m just protecting my nephew. That’s what Kimmy wanted. It was”—her voice catches—“the only thing she wanted, the only thing she cared about.”

That catch reminds me this is a woman in mourning, and my tone softens as I say, “I’m sorry.”

She takes a deep breath. “You were trying to help. I didn’t dare admit you were right, but I should have been polite about it.”

“You were thinking about Brandon. His situation. Kim was afraid for him.”

“Terrified for him.”

“Terrified of his father. Denis Zima.”

“Is that his name?”

“She never gave it?”

“She refused,” Ellie says. “She said it was a guy she’d been with in LA, and his family was into crime.” A harsh laugh. “God, that sounds like being into fashion or the music industry. They were criminals. That’s all I know. She left him when she got pregnant, and her plan was to hide Brandon until he was school age. By then, she figured it’d be safe. He was going to school this fall, and she was so excited.” Her voice hitches in a soft sob.

“But he will go to school now,” I say. “He’s safe with whoever she gave him to—”

“No, he’s not.”

“What?”

She takes a deep breath, as if calming herself to speak. “Kimmy always told me as little as possible, for my own safety. I knew about Brandon. I’ve visited them, but my kids don’t even know they have a cousin. She was so careful. She said, if anything ever happened to her, she had arranged for someone to take Brandon. I said no, I wanted him. He should be with family. I convinced her I was right, and I think she was relieved. That’s what she wanted. Brandon to be with me. She just didn’t want to assume I’d be okay with it.”