Chapter 3 - LOCKER THIRTY-SEVEN
Nobody went upstairs.
Not yet.
Dominic refused to accuse his brother based on a watch.
He had spent too many years watching men destroy families with assumptions.
But he also refused to ignore it.
“Michael,” he said, “where is my brother?”
Michael checked his phone.
“Still at the table.”
“Keep him there.”
Camille grabbed Dominic’s arm.
“You can’t let anyone know about the locker.”
He looked at her.
“You’ve been deciding what I’m allowed to know for six weeks. That’s over.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No. I don’t.”
His voice dropped.
“And that is becoming a very dangerous problem.”
Hannah stood near the fireplace, still wearing the cook’s slippers.
She should have wanted nothing more than to leave.
Instead, she heard herself say, “I’m coming.”
Dominic looked at her.
“No.”
“The key was stolen from me.”
“You’re injured.”
“My foot hurts. I’m not helpless.”
Camille gave her an exhausted look.
“You really don’t know when to stay out of something.”
Hannah faced her.
“I stayed out of things for seven months. You still slapped me.”
Camille flinched.
For the first time, she looked ashamed.
“You’re right.”
The apology was so unexpected Hannah almost missed it.
Camille looked at her cheek.
“I should not have touched you.”
“No.”
“I was scared.”
“So was I.”
“I know.”
Dominic opened the study door.
“Michael stays here. Nobody leaves the estate.”
Michael frowned.
“You’re going personally?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not smart.”
“Neither was losing my sister for eleven years.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Dominic’s black SUV pulled into the underground garage at 30th Street Station.
Camille sat beside him.
Hannah sat in the rear seat.
Nobody spoke.
Locker 37 was in an older corridor near baggage storage.
The brass key fit.
Dominic opened the narrow metal door.
Inside was a child’s red coat.
Nothing else.
Hannah stared.
“That’s it?”
Dominic lifted the coat carefully.
Small.
Maybe for a five- or six-year-old.
One brass button was missing.
Camille covered her mouth.
“I’ve seen that coat.”
“Where?”
“With Elena.”
Dominic turned.
“When?”
“At St. Catherine’s.”
Hannah’s stomach tightened.
“My mother’s facility?”
Camille nodded.
“There’s a long-term neurological wing on the other side of the property. Different entrance. Same campus.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
“You said you saw Elena.”
“I did.”
“With a child?”
“No.”
“With this coat?”
“She was holding it.”
Dominic searched the pockets.
His fingers touched paper.
He pulled out a folded child’s drawing.
A house.
Four people.
A dark-haired woman.
A tall man.
A little boy.
And another man standing far away beneath a black cloud.
The child had written names in uneven block letters.
MOM.
ME.
UNCLE D.
The fourth name had been scribbled over so hard the paper had nearly torn.
Hannah whispered, “Uncle D.”
Dominic stared at the tall figure.
“Me?”
Camille nodded slowly.
“Maybe.”
On the back was a date.
Nine years earlier.
Dominic frowned.
“Elena disappeared eleven years ago.”
Hannah understood first.
“The boy was born after she disappeared.”
Dominic looked at Camille.
“You said she remembered a child.”
Camille nodded.
“What did she call him?”
“I never heard a name.”
Dominic searched the coat again.
A plastic hospital bracelet was sewn into the lining.
He cut one loose thread with his thumbnail.
The bracelet slid free.
MATTHEW R. — AGE 9
No last name.
Hannah felt the air change.
Matthew.
The name written on Elena’s photograph.
Dominic looked at the date on the bracelet.
Two years ago.
“She was caring for him recently.”
Camille whispered, “Or looking for him.”
Dominic’s phone rang.
Michael.
Dominic answered immediately.
“What?”
Michael’s voice was controlled.
“Your mother wants to know why the gates are locked.”
“Tell her security issue.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“She asked if this was about Saint Gabriel’s.”
Dominic’s face became unreadable.
Camille closed her eyes.
Hannah whispered, “She knows.”
Dominic ended the call.
He stared at the coat.
His mother had heard nothing about Elena’s recording.
Nothing about the locker.
Nothing about the hospital.
Yet she had named Saint Gabriel’s.
He folded the coat over one arm.
“We’re going back.”
Camille stepped into his path.
“If you confront her in front of everyone, whoever attacked me will know how much we have.”
Dominic hated that she was right.
Hannah looked at the drawing again.
“There’s something else.”
Dominic turned.
She pointed to the black cloud above the fourth man.
The boy had drawn a silver circle on his wrist.
A watch.
Camille went still.
“The watch.”
Dominic stared.
Black face.
Silver band.
But beneath the scribbled-out name, part of one letter remained.
Not an M.
An R.
Hannah traced it lightly.
“Maybe his name started with R.”
Dominic’s mind moved through every person at dinner.
His brother’s name did not.
But the family attorney’s did.
Richard Vale.
Richard had advised Dominic’s father for thirty years.
He had helped the family during Elena’s disappearance.
He had handled the private investigators.
He had been the one who eventually told Dominic there was nothing left to find.
And tonight, Richard wore a silver watch with a black face.
Dominic’s phone rang again.
This time Michael didn’t bother with a greeting.
“Dominic, we have a problem.”
“What?”
“Richard’s gone.”
Dominic’s hand tightened around the phone.
“How?”
“Your mother complained she felt faint. Everyone stood up. Twenty seconds of confusion.”
“And my brother?”
“Still here.”
Dominic looked at Camille.
The watch had been a clue.
Just not the clue they thought.
Michael continued.
“We checked Richard’s chair.”
Dominic waited.
“There’s blood underneath it.”
Camille whispered, “He’s hurt?”
“No,” Michael said through the speaker.
“Not his blood.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“How do you know?”
“Because we found what it came from.”
Michael paused.
Then said the words that made Hannah clutch the child’s coat tighter.
May you like
“A missing brass button from a red coat.”
---
