Chapter 4: The Neighbor at the Door
I put Thora to bed in my room that night.
I locked the door.
Not against my daughter.
Against the rest of the house.
She fell asleep holding my hand, her cheek still faintly marked.
I sat in the chair beside the bed and did not sleep at all.
I listened to the house.
I heard Heloise moving through it — the soft click of the study door, the low sound of a phone call I couldn't make out, a drawer opening and closing somewhere near midnight.
By morning, I had made a list.
I was writing it at the kitchen table when the knock came.
It was the front door.
Early — not yet eight.
I opened it to find Patricia Osei standing on the step.
She lived three houses down.
She was sixty-something, wide-shouldered, and had the expression of a woman who had been deciding whether to do something for a long time and had finally decided.
"I saw your car last night," she said.
"I need to talk to you."
I stepped aside.
She came in, looked around the hallway, and lowered her voice.
"Is she here?"
"Upstairs."
Patricia nodded.
She set her bag on the hall table and turned to face me directly.
"How long has Thora been wearing that uniform?"
I went still.
"You've seen it."
"I've seen it three times through your kitchen window when I walked past.
I didn't know what to do.
I told myself it was some game.
A dress-up thing." She stopped.
"Then last week I saw her carrying dishes.
Stacked up to her chin.
And that woman was sitting at the table reading a magazine."
I sat down on the bottom stair.
I didn't plan to.
My legs simply made the decision.
"Why didn't you call someone?"
"I nearly did.
Twice." Patricia sat beside me.
"I talked myself out of it.
I thought — he must know.
He's her father.
He must know what's happening in his own house." She looked at her hands.
"I'm sorry, Daniel.
I should have called."
"You're here now."
"I'll write it down.
Everything I saw.
Dates, times, what she was wearing, what she was carrying.
Whatever you need." She met my eyes.
"That woman is not what she told you she was."
"I know."
"No." Patricia's voice dropped.
"I mean she had a visitor.
A man.
About six weeks ago.
They sat in your study for two hours.
I only noticed because he parked in front of my drive and I went out to ask him to move." She paused.
"He had a briefcase.
And when I asked him who he was visiting, he said he was a solicitor."
I looked up.
"He gave me his card," Patricia said.
"Force of habit, I suppose.
I still have it."
She opened her bag.
The name on the card meant nothing to me.
But the firm did.
It was one of the largest property law practices in the city.
"She was planning this," I said.
"Before I even knew there was anything to plan."
Patricia put her hand on my arm.
"You need your own solicitor," she said.
"Today.
Not tomorrow."
May you like
Upstairs, a door opened.
Heloise's footsteps crossed the landing.
