Chapter 3 - The Place She Said Goodbye
The church was locked when I arrived.
Gray water moved beyond the stone wall, and a salt wind pushed dead leaves across the steps.
Sarah used to come here when treatment made the apartment feel too small.
Once she told me she was afraid Lily would remember her only as a patient.
I remembered her laughing over burnt toast and dancing barefoot while rain hammered the windows.
I would not let anyone reduce her to a death certificate.
A folded envelope waited beneath the memorial bench.
My name was written on the front in Sarah's handwriting.
For a sickening instant I wondered whether grief had finally made me foolish.
Then I noticed the lettering.
The capital D had the right loop, but Sarah always crossed the stem.
Whoever copied it had studied her letters without knowing her habits.
Inside was a photograph of Lily sitting unharmed at a piano.
A handwritten note said: YOUR WIFE FOUND THE TRANSFERS.
WHERE IS HER BACKUP?
The photograph contained a clock reflected in the piano's varnish.
The face displayed 10:18, but the second hand was missing.
Decorative clock, not a real time clue.
Behind Lily hung a child-sized watercolor of the Zakim Bridge.
I saved the photo and sent its details to Torres through a hardened channel.
My phone rang.
This time the number was familiar: Sarah's old cell number, canceled after her death.
"You're doing well," a man said.
"Let me hear my daughter."
"She'll be fine if you give us the backup."
"What backup?"
"Don't insult us, Colonel."
The rank hit harder than the threat.
My cover was beyond compromised.
Somebody had access not just to my name but to sealed personnel material.
"You were watching my family before Sarah died," I said.
He laughed. "Your wife was more observant than you."
"Let Lily go."
"Find the red key. Sarah knew where it belonged."
The call disconnected.
I sat on the bench and searched my memory.
Red key.
Sarah had never worn a key around her neck or hidden one in our home, as far as I knew.
Then I remembered the red plastic key tag on Lily's childhood music box, a tiny brass winding key hanging from a ribbon.
Before I could move, a delivery van pulled up beyond the church wall.
Two men stepped out.
One wore a school crossing-guard vest that was clearly stolen.
They approached from different directions, trying to pin me against the steps.
I took the side exit through the graveyard instead.
A simple move, no heroic stunt.
They had expected me to protect the envelope.
I left it behind.
As I reached the road, a patrol car rolled into view.
I waved it down and identified myself to the officer with credentials I had hoped never to use in public.
He understood enough to call his supervisor, secure the church, and keep the two men from following me.
Torres called. "We found a likely property. An event-rental house in Cambridge. But we're waiting for an authorization before entry."
"They have my daughter."
"I know. Local officers are watching it."
My second line rang.
Renee.
"Daniel," she said, breathless. "Claudia is telling the board you threatened me. There's a vote tomorrow morning."
"Get to a hospital with staff she doesn't control."
"There's something you need to know. I checked the old procurement files. Sarah Carter signed a confidentiality complaint against Sterling Global four years ago."
I couldn't speak.
"Daniel," Renee said. "Your wife worked on one of our contracts."
Sarah had told me she was helping a nonprofit audit medical-equipment suppliers.
She had never said Sterling Global.
May you like
Renee's voice broke. "And the complaint was closed the day before her diagnosis."
