‘It’s unlikely. She’d be on file, or someone would have come forward by now. You know how this state is: it’s thirty-five thousand square miles of small town.’
‘You could have told me all this in a phone call, and spared yourself a trip. Why did you need to look in my eyes?’
From outside came the sound of Candy humming as she worked.
‘Jane Doe was pregnant,’ said Parker, ‘and from outside the state. The fact that she ended up buried in the woods means she was probably in trouble from the start. So what drew her to Maine?’
‘Family? A friend?’
‘Then why hasn’t anyone claimed her?’
‘Maybe the father of the child was a Mainer, or living here from away.’
‘Again, the same question,’ said Parker. ‘Why not come forward?’
‘Because he killed her.’
‘Nobody killed her. She died.’
‘She was left to bleed out. There are all kinds of ways to kill a woman. Some don’t even involve laying a hand on her.’
‘Okay, let’s say I accept that. Why let her die and then keep the child? Look at it objectively: What’s the point in concealing a postnatal death, and burying the body on woodland – which is risky – all to hide a baby?’
‘I can come up with reasons,’ said Bow, ‘none of them suggestive of a positive outcome for the child’s well-being.’
‘Once more, all that may be true. But you’re starting at the end and working back. I’m still a whole set of steps behind you.’
‘Where, exactly?’
‘At the point where she gets here and looks for help.’
‘Assuming she did.’
‘Molly—’
‘Fine, fine. So she seeks help – but she didn’t come to us.’
‘And if she’d approached any of the other services or refuges in the state, there’d be a record of it. Someone would remember.’
‘Right.’
‘Then who do you turn to if you’re really frightened, and really, really at risk, and you don’t want to be remembered?’
Molly stared at Parker, but said nothing.
‘The Tender House is discreet,’ Parker persisted, ‘but the fact that you could be dragged into bushes and beaten, in all likelihood because of your work here, confirms a certain awareness of your presence. Sometimes, discreet isn’t enough.’
‘You’re fishing.’
‘You know me better than that.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
Parker had been asking around. He’d even spoken to Rachel, his ex. Rachel was a psychologist and had worked with victims of domestic violence. She’d made some calls on his behalf, and come back with a piece of information she’d been unable to substantiate, but that was, in her view, more than hearsay.
‘I’ve heard rumors.’
‘About?’
‘Safe houses. Women and children in trouble, being passed from place to place. All under the radar, and only the most desperate of cases, the ones barely a step ahead of a violent death. No police involvement, no state or local services. They go in one end of the tunnel and come out the other, far away.’
‘Fairy tales.’
‘I don’t believe that’s the case.’
Molly sat back in her chair and folded her arms. Her demeanor didn’t augur well.
‘And if – if – all that were true, don’t you think these individuals might also want to help solve the mystery of this woman’s identity?’
‘Not if it meant explaining how they knew.’
‘You’re asking me to betray confidences.’
‘Molly, there’s something very wrong here. I’ll do all I can to protect sources, and not endanger anything you or others may have worked hard to establish, but I need to make my way back along the chain. This woman deserves better than an anonymous burial in a pauper’s grave, and out there is someone who knows where her child is.’
Slowly, Bow unfolded her arms, and Parker thought again about how tired she appeared. It wasn’t just the recent assault. Perhaps there was only so long a person could bear witness to the damage men were prepared to inflict on women without falling victim, even temporarily, to despair.
‘I’m not supposed to know,’ she said. ‘And you make it sound like some kind of formal structure or secret organization, but it’s not like that. There’s no one network, no hierarchy. There are only people who want to help, who remain in loose contact with one another, and understand the value of staying low.’
‘I won’t share this with anyone else, not even Moxie.’
‘Jesus.’ She breathed deeply. ‘I’ll give you a name, but—’
Parker waited.
‘You’ll have to tell her I sent you,’ said Bow, ‘and then she’ll never trust me again. None of them will.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, you’re not. I like you, I really do, but in so many ways you’re just another man. You’re convinced of the rightness of your own cause. You know best, and you’ll threaten and wheedle and cajole until you get what you want. When you’re done, you’ll look back at the havoc you’ve created, and all you’ll be able to do is shrug and make your apologies.’
Parker didn’t reply. He knew some of this was true, and the part that wasn’t didn’t matter.
‘You need to talk to Maela Lombardi,’ said Bow. ‘She lives not far from you, over in Cape Elizabeth.’
Parker recognized the name.
‘She was a schoolteacher.’
‘Yes.’
He tried to picture Lombardi. He thought he might have seen her once, at a community gathering. He asked Bow for contact details, and was given two numbers – home and cell phone – along with an address.
‘Are there others like Lombardi in Maine?’ he asked.
‘Not that I know of.’
‘And you’d know.’
‘I would.’
‘And in the rest of New England?’
‘I don’t have that information.’
‘You’re certain?’
‘Don’t push me, Parker.’
And when Molly Bow told you not to push, you were advised to stop pushing.
‘Thank you,’ said Parker.
‘Don’t thank me, either. Your gratitude won’t make me feel any better.’
She stood. Their meeting was over. Parker felt a kind of sadness. He understood that their relationship had shifted irrevocably, and not for the better. She walked him to the door, where Candy was waiting with a birthday card. He accepted it, and received another hug for good measure, before Candy went to her room to take a nap, leaving Parker alone with Bow. Her arms were folded again. It looked like Candy’s would be the last hug he received at the Tender House.
‘I know,’ he said to her, as he stood on the step, the street beyond still empty.
‘You know what?’
‘That you lied to me earlier.’
She stared hard at him, and waited for him to continue.
‘You can identify who assaulted you. If you’re not certain, you’re as good as.’
She stayed silent for so long that Parker became convinced she was going to let him walk away without any reply at all.
‘I have no proof,’ she said at last.
‘He’ll do it again. If not to you, then to some other woman.’
‘I’m not going to give you his name.’
‘I didn’t ask for it.’
For the first time, she looked disappointed in him.
‘In your way,’ she said, ‘you did.’
And she closed the door in his face.
58
Daniel Weaver was no longer answering calls from his toy phone. He had made this decision after seeing the story about the dead lady on one of the news shows Grandpa Owen liked to watch – except Daniel felt that lately his grandpa wasn’t much enjoying the news shows, which made Daniel wonder why he continued to monitor them so intently.
But the toy phone kept ringing. It didn’t ring while his mom or Grandpa Owen were nearby, or not since the morning of the dental appointment, when his grandpa had remarked on the noise. It was as though the lady who called herself Karis didn’t want to draw that kind of attention. It was Daniel with whom she wished to communicate, not anyone else.
And Daniel didn’t want to talk to dead people.