It was a small gray box with wires running to a portable hard drive. I had seen it a dozen times and assumed it belonged to my old computer setup. It had sat behind a stack of tax folders, collecting dust where I never thought to look.
“Daniel,” Vanessa said, “you work from home. You have equipment everywhere.”
Her voice was smooth again. Too smooth.
Detective Ramirez looked at me. “Did you install this?”
“No.”
“Has anyone else had regular access to your home over the last year?”
The question landed with the force of a slammed door.
My brother, Mark, had visited after Claire died. My mother had stayed for two weeks after the funeral. A babysitter named Tessa came twice a week for several months. The repairman who fixed the water heater had been here. The cleaning service had keys for a while.
And then there was Dr. Adrian Vale.
Claire’s grief counselor had recommended him to me after the accident. He had come to the house during the first months because Emma had stopped speaking to almost everyone. He called himself a family-transition specialist. He had a calm voice, soft hands, and a way of looking at me as if he understood exactly how exhausted I was.
He had sat in my living room and told me that grief made people vulnerable to seeing danger where there was only change.
He had said, “Children sometimes create villains because a villain is easier to understand than an absence.”
Vanessa’s gaze found mine.
“What?” she asked.
I did not realize I had spoken his name aloud.
Detective Ramirez’s expression changed. “Dr. Adrian Vale?”
“He was a counselor,” I said. “He worked with Emma after my wife died.”
“Did he install any equipment in the house?”
“No. Not that I know of.”
“Did he ever come into Emma’s room?”
My arms tightened around my daughter.
I remembered Claire’s old photo on the bookshelf. I remembered Dr. Vale kneeling beside Emma’s bed, speaking quietly to her while I stood in the doorway with a mug of coffee cooling in my hands.
I remembered thinking how lucky I was that someone knew what to say.
“He did,” I said.
Emma stirred against me.
“Not him,” she whispered.
I looked down at her.
She did not lift her face. “The man with the quiet shoes.”
The room went still.
“Can you tell me about him, sweetheart?” I asked.
Her fingers squeezed the worn paw of Bunny.
“He came when it was dark. Before Vanessa.”
Vanessa made a sound in her throat, halfway between a breath and a protest.
Emma continued, so quietly I had to bend toward her. “He said he was Mommy’s friend. He said Mommy told him to check on me.”
“Did he hurt you?” Detective Ramirez asked gently.
Emma shook her head.
“He watched.”
My stomach seemed to fall away from my body.
“He watched from the hall,” Emma said. “Sometimes he made me sit in the laundry room because he said I was bad at remembering.”
I stared at the closed laundry-room door.
