The photograph of Jennifer holding the sign traveled through the room from one phone to another.
DON’T COME IN.
Three words.
No explanation.
No demand.
No indication whether she had written them herself.
Detective Shaw left for the rehabilitation facility with Price before I could ask another question.
This time she did not promise updates.
She simply said, “Stay with Clare.”
Then she was gone.
I sat beside my sister in the hospital consultation room with an officer outside the door.
For several minutes neither of us spoke.
Clare eventually said, “She could be warning them about Dererick.”
“Or about herself.”
“What do you mean?”
“What if they made her do something?”
Clare looked at me.
“Anna.”
“I’m not blaming her.”
“I know.”
“I’m saying we don’t understand what eighteen months with those people did.”
The phrase sounded inadequate.
With those people.
As though Jennifer had been staying with unpleasant relatives.
I had seen the records.
Sedation.
Isolation.
Conditioning.
Transfer.
Completion.
“What if graduation means they make victims part of it?”
Clare’s expression tightened.
“That’s possible.”
“I saw Jennifer’s folder stop. Maybe that wasn’t because Dererick finished with her.”
“Maybe it was because her role changed.”
I nodded.
The possibility was hideous because it explained too much.
Why Jennifer was alive.
Why she appeared at the airport without visible restraint.
Why she knew where Dererick was.
Why she was now inside a building connected to the same network.
But coercion could make participation look like choice.
I remembered Dererick showing her his phone.
Her body changing.
Compliance arriving after one image.
Someone or something mattered enough to control her.
My own phone was still with investigators, so Clare gave me hers when I asked to search Jennifer’s name.
The missing-person reports were easy to find.
Jennifer Collins, thirty-seven when she disappeared.
Administrative coordinator.
Divorced.
One child.
I stopped.
“One child.”
Clare leaned closer.
The article said Jennifer had a fourteen-year-old daughter at the time of the disappearance.
“She’d be sixteen now,” Clare said.
I scrolled.
The daughter’s name was Sophie.
Jennifer had disappeared during an overnight business trip.
Police initially believed she might have left voluntarily, though her family disputed that interpretation.
Her car remained at the hotel.
Phone left behind.
Most clothing left behind.
No confirmed financial activity afterward.
A quote from Jennifer’s mother said she would never willingly abandon Sophie.
I put the phone down.
“That’s what Dererick showed her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
But the idea fit.
If Dererick had access to Sophie—or merely photographs proving he knew where she was—he would not need restraints.
He could make Jennifer walk anywhere.
Clare searched Sophie Collins.
Very little appeared.
A school athletics result.
An old fundraiser.
Nothing recent.
“Maybe they protected her identity after Jennifer disappeared.”
“I hope so.”
I thought of the photographs pinned to the Northstar wall.
If they could follow me for eleven months, they could follow a teenager.
The officer outside opened the door.
“Ms. Hale?”
I looked up.
A different detective stood behind him.
“Anna Hale?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Brooks. Shaw asked me to update you.”
I stood.
“Jennifer?”
“Still inside.”
“Police haven’t entered?”
“They established a perimeter.”
“Because of the sign?”
“Partly.”
“What else?”
Brooks glanced at Clare.
“She can hear.”
I nodded.
“Thermal imaging indicates several people inside.”
“How many?”
“At least four heat signatures with reasonable confidence.”
“Dererick, Jennifer, Elaine and Thomas?”
“Possibly.”
“Anyone else?”
“Possibly.”
“That’s not very helpful.”
“It’s what we know.”
“Did Jennifer come back to the window?”
“No.”
“Can they call inside?”
“Landline disconnected. Attempts are being made through known mobile numbers.”
“Dererick’s?”
“Yes.”
“He won’t answer me. Why would he answer police?”
Brooks ignored the edge in my voice.
“We’re also trying Jennifer’s known numbers.”
“After eighteen months?”
“We have a number believed to be associated with her.”
That surprised me.
“How?”
“Northstar records.”
I stared.
“They gave her a phone.”
“Possibly.”
“Can you track it?”
“We’re working on it.”
Every useful verb seemed to end in -ing.
Working.
Checking.
Tracing.
Identifying.
Meanwhile Dererick was inside a building with a woman he had helped erase from her life.
Brooks continued.
“There’s another issue.”
“Of course.”
“Officers found a vehicle behind the facility.”
“What vehicle?”
“A white transport van.”
The fake ambulance.
“Same plate as April fourteenth?”
“Plate is different.”
“Same company?”
“No visible company markings now.”
“Could it be the same van?”
“Possibly.”
“What’s inside?”
“Officers have not opened it yet.”
“Why?”
“It may be part of the secured scene.”
I looked away.
Clare touched my elbow.
Brooks said, “There’s something else you may be able to help with.”
“What?”
“Do you recognize the phrase blue room?”
I turned back.
“No.”
“Think carefully.”
“From the laptop?”
“Anywhere. Your husband. Home. Work.”
I searched my memory.
Blue room.
Nothing.
Then something surfaced.
Not a room.
A paint color.
“Dererick painted our guest room last year.”
“What color?”
“Blue.”
Brooks waited.
“That’s it?”
“I don’t know.”
“When?”
“Maybe ten months ago.”
“What was it used for?”
“Guest room. Mostly storage.”
“Did anyone stay there?”
“My parents once.”
“Anyone else?”
I remembered.
“Jennifer’s earliest photographs weren’t in our bedroom.”
Brooks leaned forward.
“Where?”
“I didn’t recognize the room.”
“What color were the walls?”
My skin prickled.
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
I closed my eyes.
Jennifer on a sofa.
Green sweatshirt.
Another image in a bed.
Behind her, a wall.
Muted color.
Could have been gray.
Could have been blue.
“I can’t be sure.”
“Why does blue room matter?” Clare asked.
Brooks hesitated.
“Northstar documents reference transfers to a Blue Room.”
“Capitalized?”
“Yes.”
“Is it at the rehab facility?”
“We don’t know.”
My thoughts returned home.
Dererick painting the guest room himself.
He had insisted I stay out because he wanted to surprise me with the finished color.
For almost two days he kept the door closed.
Afterward the room smelled of paint and something sharper.
I had assumed primer.
“What was in our guest room before he painted it?”
“Bed. Desk. Boxes.”
“Any camera equipment?”
“Not that I knew.”
“Locks?”
“No.”
Then I remembered the doorknob.
“He replaced the lock.”
Brooks’s pen stopped.
“What kind?”
“Regular knob with a key.”
“Why?”
“He said the old latch was sticking.”
“Did you have a key?”
“I never needed one.”
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“His key ring.”
Brooks stepped into the hallway and made a call.
Clare looked at me.
“You think he used that room?”
“I don’t know.”
But my house was already full of spaces I had not understood.
A hidden compartment.
A surveillance camera.
A briefcase.
Why not the guest room?
Brooks returned.
“Officers will examine it under the existing search authority.”
I nodded.
“Anything else?”
“Not yet.”
He left.
Twenty minutes later, Clare’s phone rang from an unknown number.
She answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
Her expression changed.
She held the phone toward me.
“It’s Shaw.”
I took it.
“What happened?”
“Anna, listen carefully. Did Dererick ever mention Sophie Collins?”
“No.”
“Jennifer’s daughter?”
“No. I only learned about her from the missing-person article.”
“Did he ever talk about a girl named Sophie without a last name?”
I searched.
“No.”
“Teenager?”
“No.”
“Any young person he claimed was a client’s daughter, relative, intern?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Silence.
“Lena.”
“We received a text from Jennifer’s phone.”
“What did it say?”
“Two sentences.”
My grip tightened.
“What sentences?”
Shaw read them.
Sophie is here.
He’ll hurt her if you enter.
I closed my eyes.
The airport suddenly made sense.
The sign.
The obedience.
The warning.
Dererick did not need Jennifer to trust him.
He only needed to hold the right person.
“Is Sophie inside?”
“We’re trying to confirm.”
“She’s sixteen.”
“Seventeen now.”
The correction hurt for reasons I could not explain.
Jennifer had lost eighteen months.
Her daughter had grown older while her mother existed somewhere inside Dererick’s system.
“Can you see another female heat signature?”
“Yes.”
“Size?”
“Could be younger.”
My stomach tightened.
“What does Dererick want?”
“He hasn’t stated demands.”
“Then why bring them there?”
“We don’t know.”
I thought about tonight’s planned transport.
My graduation.
Something had disrupted his schedule.
Me.
Pouring out the tea.
Finding the laptop.
Crossing to Mr. Peterson’s.
Calling police.
Dererick’s entire operation was collapsing.
He had gone to the airport and collected Jennifer.
Why?
Not escape.
If he wanted to flee, Jennifer and Sophie were liabilities.
Unless he needed Jennifer for something.
“What if he’s cleaning up?”
Shaw was silent.
“Anna—”
“He knows you found Northstar. He knows you have the notebook. He knows I copied the files.”
“We don’t know what he knows about the flash drive.”
“He knew I was at Peterson’s.”
“That came from location sharing.”
“He had cameras.”
“Yes.”
“He’s been preparing for discovery longer than I have.”
I heard movement on Shaw’s end.
Then Price’s voice, indistinct.
Shaw said, “I have to go.”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Jennifer’s sign said don’t come in. Not help me.”
“Yes.”
“She’s protecting Sophie.”
“Likely.”
“So if police force entry, Jennifer may do whatever Dererick tells her.”
“We’re aware.”
“Please don’t mistake that for choosing him.”
“We won’t.”
The call ended.
I gave Clare her phone.
For the next hour, nothing happened.
Then Detective Brooks returned.
His expression told me the update was not about the rehabilitation facility.
“What did you find?”
“Your guest room.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Under the carpet.”
I waited.
“There’s a floor access panel.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“There isn’t a basement under that side of the house.”
“Not a basement. A shallow concealed cavity.”
“What was inside?”
Brooks opened his notebook.
“Disposable medical supplies. Restraints. Camera mounts. Packaging material.”
Clare went pale.
I heard myself ask, “Anything belonging to Jennifer?”
“Yes.”
The room went quiet.
“What?”
“A necklace.”
“How do you know it’s hers?”
“It appears in several photographs from her missing-person file.”
I sat down.
Jennifer had been in my house.
Not merely as an image on Dererick’s laptop.
Physically.
Possibly in the guest room.
Possibly unconscious.
“When?”
“We don’t know.”
“Before I met Dererick?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
I looked up.
Brooks realized what he had revealed.
“How do you know?”
He hesitated.
“Some packaging recovered from the cavity has dates.”
“What dates?”
“Within the last two years.”
I had been married to Dererick for four.
Jennifer disappeared eighteen months ago.
My house had been part of what happened to her.
I remembered sleeping one room away from the guest room.
I remembered nights Dererick told me he was working late downstairs.
I remembered the strange smell after he painted.
“Did he bring her there after she disappeared?”
“We need forensic analysis.”
My hands began shaking again.
Then Brooks’s radio sounded.
He listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
He did not answer me.
He spoke into the radio.
“Repeat.”
Static.
Then a voice.
Brooks looked toward the hallway.
“Shots fired.”
Clare stood.
“At the facility?”
He nodded.
“How many?”
“Unknown.”
“Jennifer?”
“No information.”
“Sophie?”
“No information.”
“Dererick?”
“No information.”
I felt the room contract.
Then another transmission came through.
Brooks listened.
His eyes shifted to me.
“What?”
He lowered the radio.
“One person came out.”
“Who?”
“Female.”
“Jennifer?”
He waited for confirmation.
The radio crackled again.
Brooks exhaled.
“Yes.”
“Is she hurt?”
“She appears injured.”
“Where’s Sophie?”
“No sign.”
“Dererick?”
“Still inside.”
Jennifer had made it out.
But her daughter had not.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: Jennifer Escaped the Building With Blood on Her Coat and One Secret That Changed Everything We Thought Dererick Was Running
The Night I Poured Out My Husband’s Tea and Waited to Learn What He Expected Me Never to See
Part 10 of 24
