Chapter Twenty-Three

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, CHELSEY WATCHESas Noah deposits a plate full of breakfast food in front of her at the table. Her hair is still wet as she chugs her second cup of coffee. Noah tilts his head at her as he sits down. "You okay? Tired? You got in late last night."

Chelsey flashes to her father's office. To the little holes she pierced through the plaid wallpaper to pin up the photographs of the lost girls. To calling Kat in the middle of the night. To fudging the truth. Ellie is due at the station in forty minutes.

"Ellie is coming in today. I want to be fully caffeinated," she says.

"Wow. You finally pinned her down for an interview? How'd you manage that?"

Chelsey's lips twitch. She focuses on her plate, on the scraps of eggs clinging to the rim. "With my sparkling personality, of course," she states dryly. She blows out a breath and slumps back in her chair. "I'm nervous," she confesses. "This may be my final shot at her and…" She sees Willa in her mind. She refuses to think Willa might be dead. Instead, she pictures a nine-year-old girl trapped somewhere, a looming shadow growing above her. She hesitates to tell Noah all of it. What might he think of Chelsey's theory? That other girls were kept with Ellie. That Ellie is withholding. And Chelsey's methods? That Chelsey is luring Ellie to the station today under false pretenses. But if Ellie is hindering the investigation deliberately… what does that mean? One word comes to mind. Complicit. Soon she'll be able to explain everything to Noah. Once she has all the facts. "Everything has to go right. That's all."

The corners of his mouth tug up. "You've done dozens of victim interviews."

Not like this, she thinks.

He reaches out, closing the distance between them, laying a hand on top of hers. "You've got this." He is so steady. Like one of those jagged rocks rising from the tide on Coldwell Beach, waves breaking against it. She turns her arm, so her palm is up. They interlace fingers.

"You're right," she says. She grips his hand. Holds on tight for a moment. Wishing she could give him everything he wants from her. She'll be able to someday, she thinks. After she settles the Ellie case. After she finds out the truth. Chelsey will be free.

"Thanks for coming in today," Chelsey says, leading Ellie through the station. Kat and Ellie had been waiting when Chelsey arrived. Kat had wanted to stay. To be with Ellie. But Ellie had shooed her mom off. Insisted she go run an errand, do something.

They arrive at the conference room and Chelsey opens the door wide, gesturing for Ellie to go in first. There's not much to look at. An old box television is in the corner. A whiteboard with an analog clock above it. A coffee machine that has not been cleaned since Chelsey has worked there.

Ellie shuffles in and folds herself into a chair. She's wearing the same oversized jacket she wore at the docks with her father.

Chelsey lifts a brow, hand curled around the door. "Do you mind?"

"No." Ellie straightens. "It's fine."

Chelsey closes the door with a quiet snick, muting the voices and ringing phones outside. "Like I said, I appreciate you coming here today." She pulls out a chair across from Ellie and sits, stack of papers in hand.

"My mom said I had to," Ellie says sullenly. "She said there's some paperwork I need to sign."

Chelsey sighs. "The truth is… the truth is I was slightly disingenuous bringing you down here."

Ellie lurches as if struck. "I'm leaving." She begins to stand.

"No. Wait." Chelsey stands, steps toward Ellie. "I need to speak with you."

Ellie pauses halfway to the door. She shakes her head. "I can't help you."

"Why can't you help me?" Chelsey studies Ellie. The way her mouth closes into a single white line. How her hands flex at her sides. She is hiding something. Ellie's eyes flick to the door. "Five minutes, that's all I need," Chelsey rushes out. "You don't have to say anything. Just let me talk to you."

Ellie melts back into the seat. "Five minutes."

"Thank you," Chelsey says, and lets a few seconds tick by, holding the stack of papers. "I'm sorry if I'm a little out of sorts," she starts. "I had too much coffee this morning, and I've been awake all night. And yesterday, I was in Lacey. We got a familial match on the blood on your sweatshirt. I mean, Gabby's sweatshirt." She clocks Ellie's wince as she lays Lewis Salt's photograph down on the table. "This is Lewis Salt. He lives in Lacey. On a large property with a barn and underground cellar. He drives a blue station wagon." Another wince from Ellie. Chelsey lowers her lashes. "I thought he might have been who took you."

"He's not," Ellie rasps out. "It wasn't him."

The corner of Chelsey's mouth tips up. "I know. He has a daughter." She plucks another photograph from the stack and places it in front of Ellie. "Willa Adams. Her blood was on the sweatshirt you were wearing." The result came in moments before Chelsey was due to meet with Ellie. Montoya had texted Chelsey on her way in: WILLA'S A MATCH FOR THE SWEATSHIRT. Ellie's fingers curl around the table. Chelsey goes on. "It's strange that whoever took you took her, too."

Chelsey stops. Waits for Ellie to deny it. But Ellie's gaze is stoic, and Chelsey reads it as confirmation. "In the past, he's taken teens. Girls your age." Chelsey starts laying out the thirteen photographs of the other girls—all pure conjecture, but she is beginning to believe she is onto something, that the scope of this is that wide.

Chelsey finishes with Gabby Barlowe's and Hannah Johnson's missing girl flyers, both vanished within the same year. She leans back in her seat, crossing her legs. "That's Hannah Johnson. Someone saw her get into a blue station wagon right before she disappeared."

Ellie closes her eyes, and tears stream down her face. A full minute passes, and Ellie doesn't respond. But she is still here, immobile and haunted, a gaunt shadow.

Chelsey goes on. "I don't think I've told you much about myself. What motivates me. What drives my sense of justice. My sister went missing and was murdered when I was in high school. I guess you could call that my cop origin story." Ellie opens her eyes and Chelsey gives her a wry grin. "We didn't know what had happened to her for two days. Where she went. If she was okay or hurting somewhere. I think about that a lot, the not knowing. I also think a lot about what I could have done differently. I was the last to see her alive," Chelsey gently admits.

The night comes back to Chelsey. Watching Lydia walk down the stairs and out of her life forever. Sometimes she replays it in her mind. Choosing differently. Instead of tucking herself back into bed, she should have shaken her parents awake, turned all the lights on, and chased Lydia out the door. In some ways she's doing that now, chasing other missing girls. Refusing to let another be lost because of her inaction. "I have so many regrets about that night. I wish I would have stopped her."

"Sounds like you'd do anything for your sister." Ellie's voice is thick with tears.

Chelsey nods. "I would. I would have done anything for her."

"I understand," Ellie says.

Chelsey thinks about Sam and Ellie. How Kat said they weren't close. "I heard this anecdote once about how you can fight with your sister over a glass of water, but if she needed a kidney, you'd be the first in line," Chelsey says. There's a memory somewhere in Ellie's faint smile.

Chelsey leans in, elbows on the table. "Don't have regrets like me, Ellie." Chelsey's voice is soft. A plea in the dark. "Tell me something. Anything."

Ellie hesitates. She turns a cheek, chewing on the inside of it. Then she comes back, sweeping a hand over the first ten girls. "I don't know them."

"Okay." Chelsey turns the photographs face down, leaving Gabby, Hannah, and Willa face up, their eyes staring out at them. "And what about Gabby and Hannah? Did you know them?" Ellie dips her chin, a ghost of a nod. "Is Hannah still alive?"

Mouth closed, Ellie shakes her head.

"Hannah is dead?" Chelsey asks.

"Yes." Ellie cries and presses the heels of her palms to her eyes.

"Do you know where I might find her? I'd like to put her to rest."

Ellie cups her knees and squeezes, fingers turning white, then red, then purple. "I don't know… I don't know what he did with the body."

"That's okay," Chelsey says. "Perfectly fine. You've given me so much information right now, Ellie. You're doing so good. Forget about Hannah for the moment. That was a lot of blood on your sweatshirt. I am very concerned about Willa. Is she alive?"

Snot and tears run down Ellie's face. "She's alive."

The air rushes back into Chelsey's lungs. At last, she is inching toward the truth. But she has to keep steady. If she goes too fast, it might spook Ellie. "That's good, Ellie. That's really good to hear."

Ellie crosses her arms. "I kept her safe."

"I bet you did," Chelsey readily agrees, and a picture begins to form in her mind. A little girl alone in the woods, Ellie holding her hand. The two standing against a shadowy figure blocking their trail home. "It doesn't have to be just you anymore. I'm here now. I can help Willa. Can you help me help Willa?" Chelsey gently coaxes.

Ellie's chin trembles.

Chelsey shuffles the papers and pulls out the map of Washington State. She unfolds it and places it in front of Ellie. "Show me where, Ellie. All you have to do is point."

Ellie nudges the map away. "Can we take a break?"

Chelsey deflates. She smiles, but it does not reach her eyes. "Of course. Do you want something to drink? To eat?"

Ellie stares at the wall. "I want to go home. My stomach hurts."

"What about Willa, Ellie?" Chelsey almost adds I bet she wants to go home, too but digs her teeth into her tongue. She's made so much progress. She doesn't want to take a step too far.

Ellie looks down at the table. "I don't want to do this here. Just let me go." Her eyes skate around the conference room, landing on the door's small window as if worried someone is watching. "Come over tomorrow, and I'll tell you everything. I promise."

Chelsey squints at Ellie, trying to read her. "Sure," she says. "Tomorrow. I have your word?"

"Yes," Ellie says, rising to her feet. "I promise." She stops at the doorway, hand on the knob, and for a moment appears unbearably sad. But it is only a glimmer, here one second and gone the next. "The guy. The one who killed your sister, they ever catch him?" she asks, a storm in her eyes.

"Oh." Chelsey stands. "He… he died with her. His name was Oscar Swann. He was her boyfriend. Nobody thought he was capable of it. He was very charming. He killed her and then himself."

Ellie's gaze drops to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"We'll catch this guy." Chelsey's brow crinkles with good intention.

"Thank you," is all Ellie says.

"Thank you," Chelsey says as the door swings shut behind Ellie. She waits a beat, her promise hanging so thick in the air. We'll catch this guy. It is palpable. She swallows against the want. So close. So very close. He is nearly within Chelsey's reach. And in less than twenty-four hours, he'll be in Chelsey's grasp.