“Hello, Sienna,” Rad said. “What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering whether you’d found my mother yet,” Sienna replied. “Or Alfred.” She paused. “Or Mrs. Clark.” Her eyes moved across his desk and back to his face with the quick, scanning quality of someone checking their surroundings before committing to a direction. “Does Director Dillinger believe my mother was responsible for the fire? The one ten years ago?”
“You know I can’t discuss an active case,” Rad told her. The alarm bells that had been quietly present since Sienna’s visit to his father’s office were ringing a little louder now. “If you have specific questions about where the investigation stands, you’ll need to speak directly to my father.”
Sienna nodded slowly. Her fingers were working the sweater cuffs again.
“I understand,” she said. “I’m also concerned about my personal items. The ones that were in my safe.” Her eyes met his. “My grandmother’s jewelry. My grandfather’s pieces. They were all in there alongside my mother’s things.” She glanced down at herhands briefly. “I marked my items with an M on the list I gave you so they’d be distinguishable from my mother’s.”
“Ah,” Rad replied. “That explains the M markings in the inventory.”
“Yes,” Sienna confirmed, looking relieved. “I just want to make sure that if the safe is recovered, my items are identified correctly and returned to me.” Her voice was measured and entirely reasonable. “They’re irreplaceable.”
“I’ll mention it to my father,” Rad told her. “If there’s anything further we need from you, we’ll be in touch.”
Sienna thanked him, stood, and left.
Rad watched the door close behind her.
He sat for a moment with his hands flat on the desk, looking at the closed door and thinking about the sweater and the cuffs and the careful, reasonable way she’d framed every single thing she’d said. Rad was a little curious about her nervous habit of cuff-pulling. Sienna didn’t strike him as someone with a nervous habit. Out in public, she held herself with a confidence that was designed to make everyone around her feel inferior. Yes, the last few times he’d been alone with Sienna, she’d sat like a little frightened mouse. Rad’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He could understand why his father and June had both felt something was off. Rad had been skeptical, as he always was, of instinct until the evidence caught up with it.
And the evidence was starting to catch up.
Rad blew out a breath and made a mental note to talk to his father about Sienna’s visit before turning back to his laptop and reopening the email.
His cursor hovered over the first attachment for a moment. Then he clicked it.
The document opened, and Rad leaned forward, scanning it quickly, his eyes moving to the date at the top of the page. He found it, wrote it on his notepad without recording the document’s contents, and closed the attachment.
August. Thirty-nine years ago.
Rad opened the second attachment and did the same.
His heart gave a quick, involuntary thud as he read the date. He wrote it down on the notepad below the first entry.
March. Thirty-eight years ago.
Rad stared at what he’d written. Then he added three words next to it in small, careful letters.
Seven months later.
He held his breath and opened the third attachment.
The date was there at the top, clean and unambiguous.
Rad wrote it down.
September. Thirty-six years ago.
He looked at the date. He looked at what he’d written next to the second entry. Then he picked up his pen and wrote slowly next to the third date.
Eighteen months later.
He set the pen down.
He looked at the three lines on his notepad, at the dates sitting in sequence beneath each other, at the careful, quiet arithmetic of them.
No. That couldn’t be right.
