Chapter 8: What the Police Found
The officer called at 7:14 the next morning.
I was already awake.
Baxter was still asleep.
I took the call in the hallway outside his room, my back against the wall, watching the stripe of light under his door.
"Ms.
Vane — sorry, Mrs.
Mercer." The officer's name was Hollis.
He'd been the one to take my call the night before.
"We located Daniel Fosse."
"Where?"
"He checked into a motel in Darnell County two nights ago.
About ninety miles out.
He's still there.
We sent a unit this morning for a welfare check." A pause.
"He was cooperative.
He had the motel receipt, his ID, everything in order.
No weapons.
No materials related to your family in the room."
"Nothing."
"Nothing we could see.
He consented to a search.
Clean room." Another pause.
"He did have a one-way bus ticket.
Purchased yesterday.
Leaving tomorrow morning."
"To where?"
"His aunt's address.
In Oregon.
We confirmed she exists and she's expecting him.
She's aware of his history and she said she's prepared to support him getting back into treatment."
I let out a breath I'd been holding since the previous afternoon.
"What happens now?" I said.
"We can't hold him.
He hasn't committed a crime we can charge — the storage unit was rented legally in his name, the photographs were taken in public spaces, and the paternity filing was a legal action that was dismissed through proper channels.
The letter he left was addressed to a minor but contained no threats." Hollis's voice was careful.
"I want to be honest with you about what we can and can't do."
"I understand."
"What I'd recommend is filing for a civil protective order.
Given the history, a judge would likely grant it.
It would prohibit him from coming within a specified distance of you, your son, and your home.
If he violates it, that's a criminal matter."
"My lawyer mentioned that."
"Good.
Get it filed as soon as you can.
Even if he's leaving tomorrow, you want that order in place before he does." A pause.
"Mrs.
Mercer.
For what it's worth — the man we spoke to this morning didn't seem like someone planning anything.
He seemed like someone who was exhausted and knew it was over.
But I'd still get the order."
"I will.
Thank you, Officer Hollis."
I ended the call.
Baxter's door opened.
He stood there in his birthday shirt, which he'd slept in, his hair sideways, the stuffed rabbit hanging from one hand.
"Mom."
"Morning, bug."
"Is today still my birthday?"
"Your birthday was yesterday.
Today is the day after."
He considered this.
"Do I still get cake?"
"We'll get a new cake today.
A better one."
He nodded, satisfied, and shuffled toward the bathroom.
I stood in the hallway for a moment after he disappeared.
Then I went downstairs and called Patricia.
The protective order was filed by Thursday.
A judge signed it Friday afternoon.
Daniel Fosse's bus had already left by then, but the order followed him — served to his aunt's address in Oregon by a county sheriff's deputy the following week.
He did not contest it.
Marcus Dell sent me the full file on Monday.
Eighteen months of reports.
I read every page at the kitchen table while Baxter was at school and Calhoun was at work.
It took most of the morning.
When I was done, I closed the folder and sat for a while.
Then I called Patricia again.
"I read the file," I said.
"And?"
"He redirected the surveillance to Baxter eight months ago.
Not fourteen months.
Eight.
For the first six months, Marcus was watching me." I paused.
"He was checking to see if I had a connection to Daniel Fosse.
If the story Fosse had built in his head had any basis in reality."
"He was investigating you."
"Yes."
A long silence.
"Nora," Patricia said carefully.
"How are you?"
I looked out the kitchen window.
The backyard was still.
The pool was clean.
May you like
Someone — Calhoun, I realized — had gone out the night before and retrieved every piece of balloon ribbon and paper streamer from the lawn.
"I'm figuring that out," I said.
