Chapter 4 - THE MAN AT THE LAKE
Daniel survived.
His car had been forced against a concrete divider, but the driver’s side airbag deployed.
By the time police reached Franklin Avenue, the black SUV was gone.
Daniel’s phone was found twenty feet from the car.
The original photograph was missing.
So was the silver key.
The list had survived because Daniel had hidden it inside the lining of his jacket.
Detective Torres moved Lily to a guarded pediatric floor.
Sarah objected.
Torres did not care.
“Someone just ran your brother off a road.”
“My daughter is six.”
“Exactly.”
Two officers were stationed outside Lily’s room.
Daniel was treated for a fractured wrist and stitches above his eyebrow.
Sarah stood beside his bed.
“You don’t leave without telling me again.”
Daniel managed a weak smile.
“Yes, Mom.”
“Not funny.”
“No.”
“Who was following you?”
“I never saw his face.”
“Did you recognize the voice?”
“No.”
“Did he take anything else?”
“My wallet was still there. Laptop too.”
“So he wanted the photograph and key.”
Daniel nodded.
Sarah sat beside him.
“What’s in the red box?”
“I still don’t know.”
“Then why steal the key?”
“Because it opens something they don’t want us to see.”
Torres entered carrying a folder.
“We pulled records from Camp Willow Ridge.”
Sarah stood.
“And?”
“There was no drowning death reported during the summer Emily supposedly died.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Sarah stared at Torres.
“That’s impossible.”
“There was a missing child report.”
Sarah’s pulse jumped.
“Emily?”
“No.”
Torres placed a photocopy on the table.
The report concerned another girl.
A nine-year-old named Rebecca Hale.
Reported missing two days before Emily’s supposed death.
Sarah read the name again.
“Who was she?”
“We’re still looking.”
Daniel sat up.
“Why would Emily’s fake drowning happen at the same camp where another girl disappeared?”
Torres turned another page.
“Because your father was on the camp’s board.”
Sarah stared.
“My father was a bank executive.”
“He was also one of seven trustees who financed Willow Ridge.”
Sarah looked at Daniel.
He shook his head.
Neither had known.
Torres continued.
“One of the other trustees was Dr. Victor Hale.”
“The same last name as Rebecca?”
“Her father.”
Daniel whispered, “What happened to him?”
“Dead. Car accident nineteen years ago.”
“And Rebecca?”
“Never found.”
Sarah remembered the voice on Daniel’s phone.
Ask your mother who took Emily to the lake.
“Can you find out who worked at the camp that year?”
“We’re doing that.”
“What about old staff?”
“That takes time.”
Sarah looked through the glass toward Lily’s room.
Her child was awake now, watching cartoons with the volume low.
A bandage covered part of her cheek.
“Lily saw Grandpa opening the wall.”
“Yes.”
“I need to get into that room.”
“No.”
Sarah turned.
“No?”
“Hawthorne Crest is an active crime scene.”
“My parents own it.”
“Which means you especially are not going inside.”
“There could be evidence behind that bookcase.”
“We have officers searching.”
Sarah looked at Daniel.
“They won’t find it.”
Torres narrowed her eyes.
“Why?”
Daniel answered.
“Because Dad has hidden rooms inside that house.”
Sarah turned.
“What?”
“He showed me one when I was sixteen.”
“Why?”
“Because he thought I was ready.”
“For what?”
Daniel looked at Torres.
Then Sarah.
“To become like him.”
Silence.
“What does that mean?”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“Dad called it family stewardship.”
Sarah waited.
“He said certain families survive because they understand weakness. They observe it. Record it. Use it.”
“Use it how?”
“To control people.”
Sarah felt cold.
“He showed me files on Aunt Evelyn’s husband. Their business partner. A judge. Two politicians.”
Torres stepped closer.
“Blackmail?”
Daniel nodded.
“Some of it.”
“And children?”
“I didn’t know about the children.”
“You saw a hidden room and never told me?”
“I was sixteen. Dad said if I talked, he’d send me away like Emily.”
Sarah stared at him.
“You knew they lied about her death?”
“No. I thought he meant they had sent her away before she died.”
Torres opened her folder again.
“There’s one more thing.”
She placed a photograph on the table.
It was grainy.
A lakeside image from an old camp newsletter.
Several adults stood near a boathouse.
Robert was one.
Victor Hale was another.
Patricia stood between them.
And beside Patricia was a man Sarah recognized immediately.
Not because she remembered his name.
Because she remembered his face.
He had stood in the back row at Emily’s funeral.
Sarah pointed.
“That’s him.”
Torres looked at her.
“Who?”
“The man who called me from Daniel’s phone.”
“You’re sure?”
“No.”
But Sarah was.
She could suddenly remember him leaning down after the funeral.
His breath smelled like coffee.
His hand resting on her shoulder.
His whisper.
Be a good girl and forget what you saw.
Torres tapped the caption beneath the photograph.
His name was Dr. Malcolm Voss.
Former child psychiatrist.
Former director of Willow Ridge’s behavioral program.
Current location unknown.
Sarah stared at the photograph.
“Why would a psychiatrist be at a summer camp?”
May you like
Daniel answered before Torres could.
“Because it wasn’t just a summer camp.”
