“You said there wasn’t one.”
Hank looked at her.
“I lied.”
Diana’s face hardened.
“You what?”
“I couldn’t give it to you.”
“For twenty-four years?”
“He made me promise.”
Sarah nearly laughed.
“Everyone in this story loves promises more than truth.”
Hank handed her the paper.
The handwriting was rough.
Sarah unfolded it.
Diana—
Tell our girl I loved her before I knew her face.
Tell her I was not a good man simply because I tried to do one good thing at the end.
Make her better than me.
Hank knows where the rest begins.
F.
Sarah read it twice.
Then looked at Hank.
“The rest?”
Hank’s face went pale.
Diana stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Hank said nothing.
Sarah stepped closer.
“You told us the evidence was at Waterfront Park.”
“Yes.”
“Does this mean there’s something else?”
Hank looked toward the window.
A black SUV rolled slowly past the building.
His entire body tightened.
“We need to move.”
Sarah caught his arm.
“No.”
“Sarah.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
A second SUV turned onto the street.
Diana saw it.
“Oh God.”
Hank grabbed the envelope.
“Roof.”
Sarah blocked him.
“Answer me.”
“Frank’s evidence is not the only thing Cutter wants.”
“What else?”
Hank looked at Diana.
That was the moment Sarah understood.
Her mother knew.
Diana stepped backward.
Sarah stared at her.
“Mom?”
Diana whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“Hank.”
He closed his eyes.
“Frank wasn’t the only one collecting evidence.”
Sarah stared.
Diana sat heavily.
“I was.”
The boots in the stairwell began thirty seconds later.
Multiple sets.
Fast.
Hank shoved a chair beneath the door handle.
“Talk while moving.”
Diana grabbed a small metal lockbox from beneath the sink.
Sarah stared.
“What is that?”
“Insurance.”
“Against what?”
“Everybody.”
They ran toward the north stairwell.
Sarah followed because there was no longer time to refuse.
Three floors up.
Roof door.
Cold air.
Rain.
The gap to the next building looked impossible.
Diana stopped.
“I can’t.”
Sarah heard the stairwell door slam open below.
“Yes, you can.”
“Sarah—”
“You lied to me for twenty-four years. You don’t get to die before explaining it.”
Diana laughed once through tears.
“Fair.”
They jumped.
Diana landed badly and cried out.
Hank pulled her up.
They crossed the second roof, dropped down a fire escape, then reached Hank’s truck two blocks away.
The engine started.
Sarah shoved the lockbox into her mother’s lap.
“Open it.”
“Not here.”
“Open it.”
Diana looked at Hank.
He nodded.
She opened it.
Inside were cassette tapes.
Dozens.
Small microcassettes, each labeled with dates.
Sarah stared.
“What are those?”
“My conversations with Cutter.”
Hank turned so sharply he nearly drifted into the next lane.
“What?”
Diana looked at him.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Sarah looked between them.
“What conversations?”
Diana pressed both hands around the box.
“After Frank died, Cutter contacted me.”
Hank swore.
“When?”
“Three days later.”
“You told me he never found you.”
“He didn’t find me. I called him.”
Hank struck the steering wheel.
“Jesus Christ, Diana.”
Sarah shouted, “Why?”
Diana turned toward her daughter.
“Because Hank told me Frank died without giving up the evidence.”
“So?”
“So I wanted Cutter to believe I had it.”
Hank looked furious.
“You used yourself as bait.”
“I used his fear.”
“For twenty-four years?”
“No. For eight months.”
Sarah stared.
Diana continued.
“I told Cutter Frank had given me copies. I told him if anything happened to me, they would go to the FBI.”
“Did you have copies?”
“No.”
“You were bluffing.”
“Yes.”
Hank shook his head.
“You had a baby.”
“I know what I had!”
His jaw closed.
Diana’s voice cracked.
“I had a dead man, a newborn child and nobody telling me the truth. I needed leverage.”
“So you recorded him.”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“Enough.”
Sarah looked at the tapes.
“To convict him?”
“Not then. He never confessed directly. But he mentioned names. Dates. Payments.”
“Why didn’t you give them to federal agents?”
Diana said nothing.
Sarah understood.
“You didn’t trust them.”
“No.”
“Because Frank’s evidence included corrupted federal people too?”
Hank looked at her in the mirror.
“Exactly.”
Sarah sat back.
Every layer opened into another.
“How did Cutter find me now?”
Nobody answered.
Sarah looked at Hank.
“You said you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then think.”
He did.
For nearly a minute, only the engine and rain filled the truck.
Then Diana whispered, “The obituary.”
Sarah frowned.
“What obituary?”
“My mother died six months ago.”
“I know.”
“I used your real middle name.”
Sarah’s face changed.
Her grandmother’s funeral announcement.
Sarah Elaine Mitchell.
Born in Portland.
Granddaughter of Eleanor Price.
Diana closed her eyes.
“I thought after twenty-four years…”
“You thought Cutter stopped.”
“Yes.”
Hank shook his head.
“Men like Cutter don’t stop. They age.”
Sarah stared out the window.
“So the bench.”
Diana nodded.
“Frank hid the primary archive there.”
“And the combination is my birthday.”
“Yes.”
Hank said, “Cutter knows Frank hid something around the time you were born. He never knew where.”
Sarah looked at the lockbox.
“What about these tapes?”
Diana’s expression became strange.