CHAPTER FIVE — THE MISSING GIRL

The casting consultant’s name was printed on three different versions of the rehearsal schedule.
In one version he was introduced as an acting coach.
In another he was listed as a documentary producer.
The third called him a parent liaison.
Detective Chen asked Miriam to identify him from a photograph, but she could only describe his green coat and polished boots.
Rachel spent the following morning on the phone with parents who had attended auditions at her property.
Chen had asked her not to investigate criminal allegations herself, so she confined her calls to notifying families that the room was closed and directing anyone with concerns to the police.
The first four parents thanked her and hung up.
The fifth began crying.
“My daughter hasn’t come home,

” the woman said.
Rachel stood up from her kitchen table.
“Have you reported that?”
“I was told she was staying with another student after the rehearsal.”
“Who told you?”
“A woman from the program.”
“When?”
“Last night, before I called again.”
Rachel asked for the child’s name.
“Iris Bell,” the woman answered.
“She’s sixteen.”
Rachel gave the mother Detective Chen’s contact information and immediately called him herself.
He was already aware of the report.
“Please don’t go looking for her,” he said.
“Her mother sounds terrified.”
“We’re working with the family.”
“Was Iris at my building?”
“We’re establishing that.”
Rachel looked through her kitchen window toward the room where Leo had been found.
The window glass reflected her own worried face.
“Did I rent that space to people who were hurting children?”
Chen paused.


“You rented a room under false representations. Let the investigation establish the rest.”
The distinction did not provide much comfort.

By noon, reporters had found the address.
One television crew parked near Rachel’s gate, and another stopped outside Miriam’s house.
Rachel refused an interview.
The first headline described Miriam as a heroic grandmother who had rescued a trapped boy.
A second article called her a violent vigilante.
Both headlines made Rachel feel as though the truth were disappearing beneath arguments about the bat.
She put up a temporary plywood panel over the damaged alarm casing and contacted the licensed electrician who had installed the system.
He arrived carrying a replacement in a cardboard box.
“You want it back in the same place?” he asked.
“Yes, but check whether the doors are safe first.”
The electrician inspected the wiring and tested the replacement unit while Rachel stood in the alley.
When he opened the emergency door, a shrill tone cut through the cold afternoon.
Three neighbors came to their windows.
Rachel asked him to silence it after the test.
A woman across the alley raised her hand in an awkward wave.
It was the first time Rachel had seen that neighbor acknowledge the alarm at all.