Chapter 2

"How do you explain these?"

In the interrogation room, Captain Hayes slid a thick stack of invoices across the table.

Heavy duty chains, soundproofing foam, liquid nutrition, a portable toilet, and industrial disinfectant.

Every single signature on the delivery receipts bore my name. I stared at them for a long time.

"The handwriting is forged."

Captain Hayes replied, "We'll send it for ink and handwriting analysis."

"Is the shipping address my house?"

"Yes."

"What about the delivery confirmation videos?"

Captain Hayes hesitated, staying quiet.

I understood immediately.

"The person in the video is wearing a baseball cap and a surgical mask. Their build matches mine."

Captain Hayes' pen froze against his notepad. "How did you know that?"

"Because three years ago, right after my daughter vanished, someone used the exact same trick to pick up her school uniform from the dry cleaners."

A sharp knock broke the silence, and the door swung open. An officer leaned in, lowering his voice. "Captain, David Caldwell is here."

My fingers curled into tight fists.

Captain Hayes glanced at me. "Your ex-husband requested to cooperate with the investigation."

"He's not here to cooperate."

"Then why is he here?"

"To cry for the camera lenses."

Sure enough, David's voice echoed through the hallway outside.

He was always like this. Rolling his sandalwood prayer beads in his left hand, spouting nonsense about how everything he did was for the child.

David's voice drifted through the door.

"I told everyone years ago that Karen was mentally unstable. When Claire scraped her knee as a little girl, Karen berated the babysitter until she was in tears, threatening to sue her and destroy her career. I thought she was just overly controlling. I had no idea she could be this sick."

A reporter asked, "Mr. Caldwell, do you suspect your ex-wife was involved in Claire's disappearance three years ago?"

David choked up right on cue, his voice cracking with precision. "I never wanted to believe it. But looking at all this evidence today, as Claire’s father, my heart feels like it's being ripped out with a serrated knife."

Another woman's voice cut in, soft and soothing.

"Please, everyone, stop overwhelming the poor victim."

Veronica Smith Caldwell had arrived. Her social media handle was Veronica Saves Children, and her feed was packed with videos of her tearing up while holding orphans. Every time a camera pointed her way, she would gently dab the corners of her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

She announced smoothly to the press, "I’m David's current wife. I’m personally donating a million dollars to cover all of this girl's therapy and medical bills. She was hurt by her biological mother, so please, let me show her what a true mother's love feels like."

The crowd outside burst into praise.

"Veronica is so sweet!"

"A real angel!"

"Proof that stepmothers can be a million times better than birth mothers!"

I stared through the two-way mirror, a heavy, sick lump forming in my stomach.

Captain Hayes broke the silence. "Karen, the hospital staff just sent over preliminary notes from when they spoke with the girl.

"The girl described the birthmark behind your right shoulder blade. She knew you've been taking preion sleeping pills for years.

"She even knew you kept her baby teeth in a wooden box inside the third drawer of your nightstand."

I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut until I saw spots. "David knew all of those things."

Captain Hayes fixed his gaze on me. "He's been divorced from you for three years."

"The exact day my daughter went missing was the day we signed the divorce papers."

The room went dead silent.

Three years ago, Claire didn't come home from middle school. David's first instinct wasn't to call the police. He slid a business transfer agreement across the kitchen counter.

"Sign this first," he had said, "The moment you sign, I'll use every resource in my network to find our daughter."

I refused. He slapped me across the face, saying that I didn't deserve to be a mother.

Captain Hayes leaned forward. "Why didn't you mention this back then?"

"I did," I said, meeting his eyes, "It's right there in the police report."

Captain Hayes immediately turned to his officer. "Pull up every single case file from three years ago. Now."

The interrogation room door swung open again. An officer walked in holding an evidence bag made of clear plastic. Inside was an old, faded sundress, stained with dark brown, dried blood.

Captain Hayes lowered his tone. "Found stuffed inside a gap in the basement drywall. Initial field tests show the blood belongs to Claire."

My head snapped up, my heart pounding against my ribs. "Run a full, comprehensive lab re-test."

"We will."

"Do it right now!"

Captain Hayes looked at me, his expression unreadable. "Karen, I know you're frantic, but we can't skip protocol."

A sharp wail rang out from the lobby outside.

David's mother, Monica Caldwell, had arrived. The old woman was waving a banner with giant black lettering, practically trying to throw herself through the police station doors.

[Give me back my granddaughter, you monster!]

[Officers, don't let her play the victim!]

[Our family took care of her for ten whole years, and she turns around and tortures her own flesh and blood!]

Staring at the banner, a sudden memory flashed through my mind: Claire's seventh birthday. Monica had pushed the birthday cake away from Claire and handed the biggest slice to David's friend's son, claiming little girls shouldn't eat sweet stuff or they'd grow up spoiled.

Claire hadn't cried. She just quietly put her fork back on the plate.

Outside the glass, Veronica gently held the sobbing woman, her voice sickeningly sweet. "Monica, don’t worry. Justice will give Claire the answer she deserves."

Monica grabbed Veronica's hand, weeping. "Veronica, sweetie, you act more like a real mother than that witch ever did!"

Captain Hayes placed an arrest warrant on the desk in front of me.

"Karen, we have sufficient evidence to hold you in custody.

"You have the right to an attorney. You can also choose to continue giving your statement."

I looked past him toward the blurry silhouette of David standing behind the two-way glass. He was using his prayer beads to hide the subtle twist of his lips.

I asked, my voice deadly calm, "Captain Hayes, if someone constructs a trail of evidence that is too perfect, doesn't that make it suspicious?"

Captain Hayes didn't answer. He picked up his pen, his voice flat and even.

"Sign the papers, Karen."