Chapter 32 - Thomas Hale
Thomas Hale arrived at the Mercer house before police could find him because someone had tipped him off that his car had been identified. He came through the gate furious, pale, and sweating despite the cold.
“I did not take that girl,” he said before he sat down.
Ruiz folded her arms. “Interesting opening.”
Thomas was fifty, broad-shouldered, with Lydia’s eyes but none of her softness. He looked at Grant as if family history had already convicted him of something.
“My car was stolen last week.”
“Reported?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it was returned six hours later.”
Ruiz stared. “And you thought that didn’t matter?”
“I thought one of the estate workers borrowed it.”
Grant stepped forward. “Who had access?”
“Half the property staff.”
Eleanor interrupted. “Thomas, did anyone access Lydia’s archive?”
His face changed.
There it was.
“What?” she demanded.
Thomas rubbed one hand over his mouth. “The storage room was opened.”
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
Grant’s voice dropped. “And you said nothing.”
“I thought it was family records.”
“Whose family?”
Thomas looked away.
That made Ruiz lean closer. “Start over.”
The truth came out slowly.
After the Cross scandal became public, Thomas received a call from Marianne. She claimed Evelyn Cross wanted to settle old charitable records connected to Lydia’s parents. Marianne said she knew Lydia from society events years earlier and needed access to archived correspondence.
“You let her in?” I asked.
“For twenty minutes.”
Grant’s face turned hard with disgust. “You handed a Cross relative Lydia’s private papers after everything that happened?”
“I didn’t know she was involved with them.”
“You didn’t ask?”
Thomas snapped back, “Not everyone reorganizes their life around your scandals, Grant.”
The room went cold.
I watched Grant absorb the insult without reacting. Months ago, he might have.
Now he only said, “A child is missing.”
Thomas’s anger collapsed.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Ruiz asked what Marianne had seen.
Thomas did not know.
Eli did.
He had received a remote inventory photo from the archive manager.
One box was missing.
Label: A.R.H. PRIVATE - LYDIA.
Abigail Rose Hale.
Eleanor sat down heavily.
“That box contained letters to Abigail.”
“And the phrase?” Ruiz asked.
“Yes.”
“Anything about Noah?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Eleanor looked at Grant. “Lydia wrote about wanting them to meet.”
My stomach turned.
A kidnapper could use those letters to impersonate Lydia’s wishes.
To make Abigail believe she was being brought toward family.
Thomas suddenly said, “There was one more thing.”
Everyone looked at him.
“Marianne asked whether Lydia ever kept property in her maiden name.”
“What kind of property?”
“A cabin.”
Eleanor stood so fast her chair scraped.
“The lake house.”
Grant looked at her.
“What lake house?”
“Lydia’s parents owned a cabin near Lake Arden. It was transferred into a holding company after Abigail was born.”
Ruiz was already reaching for her radio.
Thomas went white. “It’s been empty for years.”
Eleanor whispered, “Not to Abigail.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“She spent summers there when she was little.”
The search team mobilized.
Grant wanted to go.
Ruiz refused.
“This is not your operation.”
“My wife’s daughter may be there.”
“And if the property is compromised, you showing up makes our job harder.”
Grant looked ready to fight, then stopped himself.
Growth often looked disappointing from the outside. No shouting. No heroic rush. Just a man choosing not to make fear everyone else’s problem.
We waited.
Forty-three minutes.
Then Ruiz’s radio cracked.
“House clear.”
My heart dropped.
“Signs of recent occupancy,” the officer continued. “Food. Bedding. Child-size jacket.”
Grant gripped the edge of the table.
Then came the next line.
“And we found a wall covered in photographs of the Mercer house.”
Noah.
Me.
Grant.
Rosa.
Eli.
The gate.
The nursery window.
This was not just about Abigail.
Someone had been studying all of us.
May you like
And pinned at the center of the wall was a photograph of Lydia with one word written across it in red marker.
LIAR.
