CHAPTER 18 RACHEL’S VOICE
Ortiz drew her weapon.
“Stay here.”
She moved into the hallway with two officers.
The screaming continued.
It came from the second floor, where six women and three children were staying in temporary housing.
Claire reached for the door.
“I need to help them.”
“Ortiz said to stay here.”
“This is my center.”
“And someone just locked us inside it.”
Nora stood near the wall, one hand pressed against her stomach.
The emergency lights flickered on.
A red glow filled the consultation room.
The tape recorder remained on the table.
Then it clicked.
None of us had touched it.
Rachel’s voice returned.
“The first recording was meant to make sure you listened.”
I grabbed the recorder.
A second section of tape had started automatically.
“If the power has gone out, they know Nora reached you.”
Claire stared toward the ceiling.
“How could Rachel know this would happen?”
Rachel’s recorded voice continued.
“Harbor House is not a shelter. It is a collection point. Diane delivered women there for Senator Reeves, but Reeves was never in charge.”
The audio distorted.
“There is a ledger. Every mother. Every child. Every trust account. Every false death certificate.”
Nora shook her head.
“I don’t understand.”
Neither did I.
Rachel’s voice became urgent.
“The key is hidden where our father left the letters.”
The recording ended again.
The lights returned.
A moment later, Ortiz appeared in the doorway.
“There was no attacker,” she said.
“Who screamed?” Claire asked.
“One of the residents found a man hiding inside a supply closet.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s dead.”
Nora sank into her chair.
Ortiz looked at the tape recorder in my hand.
“What happened while I was gone?”
I told her.
She listened without interrupting.
Then she led us to the supply room.
The dead man appeared to be in his fifties. He wore a maintenance uniform, but no one on staff recognized him.
There was no identification in his pockets.
A small burn mark covered the side of his neck.
Ortiz crouched beside the body.
“He may have used a chemical capsule.”
“Suicide?” I asked.
“Possibly.”
Claire pointed toward his right hand.
A piece of paper was crushed between his fingers.
An officer carefully removed it.
It was a photocopy of an old newspaper article.
The headline described the fire that had killed Rachel.
Someone had circled one sentence.
The remains were identified by the victim’s mother.
My mother had been the only person to identify the body.
No DNA test had been performed.
No dental comparison.
The medical examiner had relied on a necklace Diane claimed belonged to Rachel.
Ortiz stood.
“We reopen the death investigation today.”
Nora stared at the photograph attached to the article.
“That woman visited Margaret.”
“You’re certain?” I asked.
“Yes.”
Claire turned toward me.
“What did Rachel mean about the letters?”
Our father had written seventy-three letters.
Diane had hidden every one of them.
Thomas kept copies, but most had been stored in a rented garage years ago.
Ortiz arranged protection for Rachel House while Claire and I drove to his apartment.
Thomas opened the door wearing slippers and an old Portland Trail Blazers sweatshirt.
His smile disappeared when he saw our faces.
I placed the silver bracelet in his palm.
He stared at it for several seconds.
“Where did you get this?”
“Rachel House.”
Thomas looked toward the hallway, as though expecting someone to appear.
Then he closed the door quickly.
“Dad,” I said, “Rachel mentioned the place where you left your letters.”
He said nothing.
“Is there a key?”
Thomas’s shoulders dropped.
“I hoped I would die before you asked me that.”
“Why?”
“Because your sister made me promise.”
“Rachel is dead.”
He looked into my eyes.
“No.”
The room became silent.
May you like
Thomas tightened his hand around the bracelet.
“The last time I saw Rachel, she was alive.”
