Chapter 7: What Dora Carried
Vincent stood on the pavement outside the notary building with the phone pressed to his ear.
Vincent: Where are you?
Dora: Close.
I've been close for a long time.
I'm at the coffee shop on the corner of Calloway and Ninth.
The one with the green awning.
Come alone.
Or come with Clara.
But not the security men.
He looked at Clara.
She had heard the name and gone very still.
Vincent: We'll be there in ten minutes.
He ended the call.
Clara: She's here.
She's been here.
Vincent: Did you know?
Clara: No.
I swear to you I did not know.
They walked.
Reeves started to follow and Vincent held up one hand without turning around.
Reeves stopped.
The coffee shop was small and warm.
A woman sat alone at a table near the back wall.
She was in her late sixties, with white hair cut short and hands that were wrapped around a mug the way Clara's had been wrapped around her coffee cup — as though warmth was something you held onto carefully.
She looked up when they came in.
Her eyes went to Clara first.
Something passed between them — recognition, relief, and something older than either of those.
Dora: Clara.
Clara: Dora.
They did not embrace.
They looked at each other for a long moment, and that was enough.
Dora looked at Vincent.
Dora: You have Eleanor's eyes.
She told me you would.
She described you so many times that I feel I already know your face.
Vincent sat down.
Vincent: You've been in contact with my mother.
Dora: Yes.
Vincent: She's alive.
Dora: She's alive.
She has been living quietly for many years.
She is not well — her health has declined in the last two years — but she is alive and she knows you are looking.
Vincent's hand was flat on the table.
He didn't move it.
Vincent: Where is she?
Dora: She made me promise not to tell you directly.
She was afraid that if Arthur found out you had located her, he would find a way to use her against you.
She wanted the evidence secured first.
Vincent: The evidence is secured.
I have everything from the bank and from the notary.
The police report is being filed right now.
Dora reached into her bag and placed a small flash drive on the table.
Dora: Then take this as well.
Vincent: What is it?
Dora: Your mother kept a record.
Every year, from the time she left until two years ago when her hands became too unsteady to type.
Dates, names, details of what was done to her.
She recorded phone calls when she could.
There are conversations on that drive, Vincent.
Arthur's voice.
Discussing the payments to Solen.
Discussing what would happen if she ever tried to come back.
Clara put her hand over her mouth.
Vincent picked up the flash drive.
Dora: She recorded the last call three years ago.
Arthur called her.
He had found her — she didn't know how.
He told her that if she ever contacted you, he would make sure the story that came out was that she had abandoned you willingly.
That she had been paid.
That the whole thing had been her choice.
He said he had documents to prove it.
Vincent: The transfer agreement.
The one she signed under duress.
Dora: Yes.
He was going to use her own signature against her.
Vincent: He's been threatening her for thirty years.
Dora: He never stopped.
He just did it quietly, from a distance, so she could never prove it.
Vincent stood up.
Vincent: I need that address, Dora.
Dora: I told you, she made me promise—
Vincent: Arthur is running.
Right now.
He checked out of his hotel an hour ago and we don't know where he is going.
If he reaches her before I do—
Dora's expression changed.
She picked up her own phone.
Dialed.
Waited.
The call rang out.
She dialed again.
It rang out again.
May you like
Dora looked up at Vincent, and for the first time since they had sat down, her steadiness cracked.
Dora: She always answers.
