Chapter 5 - The Sister in the Window
The address in Madeleine’s letter belonged to a demolished boardinghouse.
Clara stared at the result on Ruiz’s screen.
For a moment, she hated the letter.
Then she hated herself for expecting sixteen-year-old paper to rescue them in an afternoon.
Ruiz closed the image.
“We follow people as well as buildings.”
Beatrice Fallon had left a niece.
The niece remembered her aunt sending Christmas cards to a woman named Hannah Vale.
Hannah worked as a home-care nurse.
There were old addresses.
Employment records.
A photograph from a community fundraiser.
Clara leaned forward.
The woman beside Hannah was older now, but unmistakable.
The housekeeper from Cleveland.
“The woman who brought my meals.”
Ruiz looked at her.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
The investigation began moving faster.
Clara wasn’t included in every detail.
She understood why.
She hated that, too.
Waiting had become its own room.
She walked between the apartment’s kitchen and living room until Nora suggested going outside with an escort.
At a small park, Clara watched a father teach his daughter to ride a bicycle.
Every time the child wobbled, he reached.
Every time she steadied, he let go.
Clara sat on a bench and cried so quietly that Nora only noticed when she handed back a wet tissue.
“I don’t know how to be her sister,” Clara said.
“Elise?”
“She was seven when I lost her. What if she hates me?”
“Then you’ll listen.”
“What if she doesn’t remember me?”
“Then you’ll introduce yourself.”
Clara looked at the bicycle.
“What if I’m too late?”
Nora didn’t answer with a promise.
She took Clara’s hand.
That evening, Dominic called.
Nora had asked first whether Clara wanted contact.
She said yes.
His voice sounded careful.
“How are you?”
“Badly.”
“All right.”
She laughed once.
“That wasn’t the expected answer.”
“You don’t need to make it easier to hear.”
For several minutes, they talked about ordinary things.
Her old job.
The plant in his reception area that she had quietly replaced after Leo overwatered it.
The terrible coffee Dominic insisted he liked.
Then she asked about his lawyer.
He told her he had begun giving information about Pier Nine and other conduct.
There would be consequences.
He didn’t know all of them yet.
“Are you doing it because of me?”
“Meeting you made some things harder to ignore. The decisions are mine.”
She was grateful he didn’t make her responsible for his conscience.
Before they hung up, he said, “I found someone who knew your mother.”
Clara sat upright.
“Who?”
“A former driver. He’s speaking with Ruiz.”
“What did he say?”
“That your mother got you both out once.”
The room seemed to narrow.
“What?”
“He said Arturo found you at a roadside motel. You were asleep. Your mother went outside to speak to him.”
Clara’s stomach turned.
She remembered orange curtains.
A vending machine.
Elise crying because she had lost a shoe.
For years, she had thought those images belonged to a vacation.
“What happened to her?”
“He doesn’t know.”
Clara closed her eyes.
Her mother hadn’t abandoned them.
She had reached the door.
She had almost made it through.
The next afternoon, Ruiz arrived in person.
They had located Hannah Vale.
They had also identified a house connected to Arturo through a property company.
Recent deliveries matched details in Elise’s photograph.
Clara stood so quickly her chair scraped.
“You found her?”
“We believe we’ve found where she’s being held.”
“When are you going?”
“We’re coordinating the response.”
“Can I come?”
“No.”
Clara’s breath caught.
Ruiz met her gaze.
“You can help by recording the song.”
Clara stared.
“If she hears your voice afterward, it may help her understand who we are.”
For a moment, Clara couldn’t remember the first line.
Then it came.
Small bird, small bird, don’t fear the night.
May you like
She sang until her voice broke.
Ruiz let the recording continue.
