Chapter 9 - THE MESSAGE FROM AN UNKNOWN WOMAN|
Lydia came to my apartment on Saturday morning.
She brought a folder of photographs, printed emails, and handwritten notes that Rebecca had sent before she disappeared.
She was in her early forties, with tired eyes and a voice that became steadier whenever she spoke about her sister.
Rebecca had been a graphic designer. She loved old movies, hated cold coffee, and sent Lydia a postcard every time she traveled somewhere new.
“She was stubborn,” Lydia said, arranging the photographs on my kitchen table. “If she believed something was wrong, she couldn't let it go.”
I studied a photograph of Rebecca holding a toddler.
“Is this Emma?”
“Yes.”
The little girl had dark curls and a gap between her front teeth. Rebecca was smiling at her as if the rest of the world had disappeared.
I wondered where she was now.
Lydia opened the folder.
“Rebecca began writing these notes after she became frightened of Vanessa.”
The first note described Vanessa showing up at Rebecca's apartment without warning.
The second mentioned missing financial documents.
The third was a list of dates and times.
At the bottom of one page, Rebecca had written:
Ethan believes whatever makes his life easiest. Vanessa knows it.
I read the sentence twice.
“Did Rebecca think Ethan was involved in something illegal?”
“I don't know. She never explained everything.”
“Why would Vanessa take her belongings?”
“Maybe to erase her. Maybe because she wanted something in them.”
Lydia turned over another photograph.
It showed Rebecca standing outside a brick building with a little girl beside her. On the back was an address in a neighboring town.
I searched the address online.
The building had been converted into offices years earlier.
But one business still occupied the second floor: a private family-services organization that offered supervised visitation and temporary placements.
I showed Lydia.
Her face changed.
“Rebecca worked there for a while.”
“Could Emma have stayed there?”
“Possibly.”
We called the organization. The administrator refused to discuss confidential records, but agreed to forward our information to the appropriate authorities.
Later that afternoon, Detective Ruiz called me.
“We have a development,” he said. “The photograph and documents you provided may be relevant to the ongoing investigation.”
“Have you found Emma?”
“We're following up on several leads.”
“Is Rebecca alive?”
“I can't give you a definitive answer yet.”
I hated the uncertainty, but I understood.
Before ending the call, Ruiz asked me to preserve any future communications from unknown numbers.
That evening, another message appeared.
This time, it wasn't a photograph.
It was a voice recording.
I pressed play.
A woman's voice whispered through static.
“Claire, if you're hearing this, it means Vanessa has started asking questions about you.”
I stopped breathing.
The voice continued.
“Do not let Ethan take Ava anywhere alone. Do not trust anything Vanessa says about Rebecca. And if you find a key taped beneath the old garden bench, do not use it until you know who is watching the house.”
The recording ended with a click.
I replayed it.
The voice sounded frightened, but unmistakably deliberate.
Lydia listened beside me.
Her face had gone pale.
“That's Rebecca,” she whispered.
We contacted Detective Ruiz immediately and forwarded the recording.
Then I looked out the kitchen window.
Across the street, a dark sedan sat beneath a bare tree.
Its headlights were off.
A person occupied the driver's seat.
I watched for several seconds.
Then the engine started.
The car pulled away slowly, turned at the corner, and disappeared.
I couldn't tell whether the driver had been watching us.
But I no longer believed the danger ended when Vanessa left my daughter's house.
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Someone was still trying to control what we knew.
And someone was afraid of what would happen if we learned the truth.
