Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Photograph
Marina was released pending investigation because the prosecutor wanted more than one afternoon of footage. She left the station carrying a paper bag of clothes and refusing to look at Andreas.
“She’ll come back,” June said from the courthouse steps.
“Not if the order is approved.”
“Orders don’t stop people who think they’re entitled to your house.”
Andreas turned. “Why do you keep saying that?”
June's grocery bag sagged against her hip. “Because I’ve watched your family for twenty years. Your father always acted like the whole block belonged to him.”
Victor Vale had been handsome in the polished, exhausting way of men who believed charm could erase damage. He owned a construction-supply company, gave money to the fire department, and remembered every neighbor's birthday. He also lied with the ease of breathing.
Three weeks before his death, Andreas had learned about Marina. He found the messages by accident while helping Victor transfer photographs from an old phone. Marina's name appeared again and again, followed by hotel addresses, apologies, and promises.
Elena had already suffered the stroke by then. She could not ask questions. Andreas had confronted his father alone.
“Does Mom know?” he had said.
Victor's face had emptied. “Your mother has enough problems.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“You think you understand marriage because you’ve had one bad relationship?”
“I understand betrayal.”
Victor had slapped the phone from his hand. Two weeks later, he was dead from what the coroner called a cardiac event complicated by a fall.
Now Andreas sat in Dr. Anika Patel's office while she reviewed Elena's records. Dr. Patel was a rehabilitation physician with a direct voice and a calm, stubborn manner.
“Your mother understands more than she can express,” Patel said. “Her language output is impaired, not her judgment.”
“Can she testify?”
“That depends on the question and the day. But don't turn her into a symbol. Ask her what she wants. Let her refuse.”
“She keeps pointing at the fence.”
“Then begin there.”
At home, Andreas found Elena waiting beside the kitchen table. June had placed a large letter board in front of her. Elena pointed to the letters slowly, with the concentration of someone assembling a bridge plank by plank.
M. A. R. A.
“Mara,” Andreas said. “Is that Marina?”
Elena shook her head violently.
She began again.
F. E. N. C. E.
“Fence.”
Elena pointed at the word, then pointed to herself. Next she tapped her chest and made a fist with her good hand.
“You remember something,” Andreas said.
Her eyes hardened. She pointed toward the study.
In the back of the closet, beneath old tax boxes, Andreas found a photograph of Victor and Marina standing beside a chain-link fence. The photograph was dated nine years earlier, before Andreas knew Marina's name. A third person stood behind them: a young woman with Marina's dark hair and Victor's narrow chin.
On the back, Victor had written one sentence.
She saw the gate open.
Andreas called Marina from a number Rowan had provided. She answered on the fourth ring.
“What is Mara?” he asked.
Silence pressed against the line.
“My daughter,” Marina said finally. “Her name was Mara Bell.”
“Was?”
“You should ask your mother what she did.”
The call ended.
Elena had been listening. She lifted the letter board and pointed to three more letters.
N. O. T.
Then she jabbed a finger toward the photograph.
Andreas felt the room shift beneath him. His father had known Marina for at least nine years. He had known her daughter. And the note on the photograph suggested that Mara had seen something at their house before she disappeared.
May you like
Behind the fence, the grass was freshly turned.
Who had opened the gate, and why had everyone agreed to bury the answer?
