Chapter 12: Alder Lane

I let him in, and I locked the door behind him without a sound.

Upstairs, a floorboard creaked in the guest room. We stood in the dark kitchen and waited until it stopped.

"Not here," I whispered. "The pantry."

It was the one room in the house with no window and a door that shut.

I turned on the single bulb.

We stood between the cereal and the canned tomatoes, close enough to hear each other breathe.

Duncan opened the folder on the shelf and set a photograph in front of me.

It was the edge of the sedan's driver door, with a small white sticker beside the plate.

HOLLIS ROAD COLLISION. FRONT END, BUMPER, HOOD.

"Read the date," he said.

I read it.

My hand went flat against the shelf.

I had to look at the date for a long time before it turned into a day.

It was three days after the night Wren died.

"That's the night she died," I said. "Plus three."

"Yes."

"Where did this come from?"

"The crash technician's full set. She photographed it by routine. Nobody in either office has looked at it."

He took out a second page. It was a copy of the closed file, with a county stamp.

Kershaw, Wren Elizabeth. Age 5. Alder Lane, 9:22 p.m. Pedestrian struck, vehicle left scene.

Below that, in the investigator's neat print, were three lines about the scooter.

Black automotive paint on the frame. No vehicle located. Case closed by supervising attorney.

"Supervising attorney," I said.

"Marshall Kershaw."

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