“ARC,” Holt said, remembering the van.
Mara showed her the picture. “It could be their vehicle.”
Holt called dispatch to check the business. The company was registered, with a valid storefront license. Its website listed upcoming events, including a limited-ticket attraction called The Lost Room, where players attempted to locate a fictional child who had disappeared from an imaginary town. The promotional photograph showed a lime-green raincoat hanging on a chair.
Mara stared at the screen. “That’s the boy’s coat.”
“Could be a costume.”
“Yes. But why photograph it in my yard?”
Holt could not answer. She asked Mara to remain elsewhere for the night. Mara agreed to stay with her colleague Priya, who lived near the library, then packed a bag while an officer waited on the porch.
Before leaving, she noticed something unexpected on the cracked brick. A faint white fox had been stamped onto one edge. It was not a manufactured marking. The image looked as though somebody had applied it with a stencil.
She mentioned it to Holt, who examined the brick carefully.
“Maybe your neighbor knows the logo,” Holt said.
“She used to drive a bus,” Mara replied. “Maybe that’s why she recognized the boy.”
On her way out, Mara found a small green ribbon tied to the fence latch. It fluttered in the evening wind, the same exact color as the raincoat.
Chapter Four: Willa’s Explanation
Priya Singh lived above a small printing shop, in rooms that smelled faintly of paper and cardamom tea. She let Mara in without asking whether she wanted to talk, made soup, and gave her the spare bedroom. It was the first ordinary kindness of a day that had become steadily stranger.
At nine, Mara’s phone rang from a private number.
“You should not have left your house,” a woman’s voice said.
“Willa?”
“Are you alone?”
“No. Tell me why you threw a brick through my window.”
A shaky breath came down the line. “I was told you would open the front door if there was trouble at the back. I needed you to stay where you could see your phone.”
“Who told you?”
“The man with the black case. He said if I didn’t do it, he’d take the boy before anybody knew where to look.”
“What boy?”
“His name isn’t Eli,” Willa whispered. “That’s the name they use in the show. His real name is Owen. I drove him to school when he was little.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. I thought I did.”
Mara looked toward Priya, who was standing by the stove. She placed the call on speaker.
“Willa,” Mara said, “there are police looking for you. Talk to them.”
“I tried. The man told me they would think I was confused, and then he showed me a photograph of my grandson outside his job. I know how it sounds. But I was afraid.”
