Wherever She Goes(63)

“She reached out in hope,” he says.

I nod, and I sip my coffee.

“You want to help her,” he says. “You feel bad about refusing.”

I shrug and keep drinking.

“That’s what the nightmare was about,” he says. “No one stopped for your mother. No one helped. And now you feel like you’re doing that with Brandon.”

I take a deep breath. “Rationally, I know better. He’s not lost in a field, with no one looking for him. Ellie knows he’s gone. She’s his aunt. It’s her responsibility to call the police.”

He eats quietly for a moment. Then he says, “If you want to contact her, that wouldn’t be a bad idea. Try to convince her she can trust Officer Jackson. If she still won’t . . .” He takes a deep breath. “I need to work at the office this morning, but I’m taking the afternoon off. Whatever you do about Ellie, please don’t physically investigate until I’m here. I know you can look after yourself, but I can watch your back. I’d like to watch your back.”

I agree.



Before Paul leaves, he tells me I should take a nap.

“I know you won’t,” he says. “But you had a rough night, so I’m going to suggest it anyway. If you’re calling Ellie, maybe wait a bit. Give her time to wake up and realize she needs to contact the police.”

“I’ll do that.”

“You gave Officer Jackson Orbec’s gun, right?” he asks.

I nod.

“Then since you have the day off, I’ll ask you to stay in with the security system set. Obviously, you can tell me where to stick my advice . . .”

I smile. “I’d never do that. But yes, I know it’s just a suggestion. A wise one. I’m going to spend the morning online. I won’t hack anything from the home Wi-Fi, though.”

“Hack?”

“Er, sorry. I meant—”

He presses a finger to my lips. “You meant hack. I get it. Maybe someday you’ll explain that part, but for now, as long as you don’t ‘hack’ government security, I’m not too worried about it. We have an open Wi-Fi channel. If anyone reports hacking, I’ll blame it on Mrs. McDonnell next door.”

“Eighty-year-old invalid Mrs. McDonnell?”

“She needs a way to spend her time.”

I laugh. “Okay. I’ll be careful, though. I’ll mask the IP.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not even going to ask what that means. I’ll be home by one, and I’ll bring lunch. Be safe.”

He leans forward to give me a goodbye kiss, as he did every morning of our marriage. Then he stops and pulls back, mumbling something.

I kiss his cheek, a quick peck. “Old habit, I know. If this gets too cozy for you, just say the word. I can stay in a hotel.”

He gives me an awkward, one-arm hug. “It’s fine. I’ll rest better with you here.”

“You know I appreciate it.”

“I do. Now arm the system as soon as I leave.”

“Yes, sir.”



I don’t nap, of course. I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to. I have a job to do, which will keep me from fretting about many things . . . including the fact that I may not have an actual job. I told Paul that I have the day off. That’s true. It’s just not a scheduled one.

I called Ingrid last night to tell her that I’d reported the video incident, and I gave her Laila’s number to follow up on that. She said that was fine . . . but that my job was under review for “other reasons,” and I should stay home until they decided the future of my employment with the Oxford Central Library.

I pull up the video from yesterday’s threat. I keep feeling like I should be able to get something from it. That’s not my area of expertise, though. I analyze the metadata, but there’s nothing useful there. I already knew the date and the location and there was little more I could gather from the data. On to the video itself then. It’s less than three minutes long, which makes it easy to parse and view frame by frame.

I hope for some secret in those frames. I don’t know what. A reflection of the videographer in a window? A glimpse of his shadow, with some distinctive hair or headgear? Ridiculous, I know, but I still look. The problem is that it’s a distance shot, with nothing in the videographer’s immediate surroundings.

I see Charlotte and Mrs. Mueller and Becky and the dog. At one point, another woman and her child join, and I think I recognize her. I can ask Paul if he does and find out whether she saw anything untoward. Otherwise, it’s just a video of the park, with a house in the background and two cars parked on the street.

One of the cars catches my eye. I zoom in. The playground doesn’t have a parking lot—people walk to it or they park on the street. There are two cars clearly in the video. The one that grabbed my attention is farther down, and the video only includes the back end.

I’ve seen that car before. I can’t make out the make or model, but the rear bumper tweaks a memory. It’s a luxury sedan in a neighborhood full of luxury sedans. I must recognize it because I’ve seen it around before.

Still, I screenshot the image for later, along with one of the neighbor and her son, for Paul to follow up on.

Next comes the phone number. For that, I do need to hack. It turns out to belong to a prepaid—surprise! I trace back to the call records. It was activated yesterday morning, and it has sent two videos—one to me and Paul—and four texts, all to us. That’s it. No calls. No other texts.