Chapter 4: The House With the Green Door
Tran met me in the corridor with a printed sheet still warm from the machine.
"Property records," he said.
"The house in the photograph.
I ran the image through the address database — matched it to a rental property on Calloway Street.
Lease was registered under a shell company.
But the emergency contact on the original rental application—" He tapped the bottom of the page.
"Daniel Mercer."
My brother's full name.
In print.
On a document dated eight years ago.
"He was living there," I said.
"Or hiding there.
The lease ran for eleven months.
Then nothing.
No renewal, no forwarding address, no record of him after that point."
I read the address again.
Calloway Street was twelve minutes from the station.
Twelve minutes from where I had worked for nine years.
My brother had been twelve minutes away and I hadn't known.
"Who owns the shell company?"
Tran hesitated.
"That's the part I wanted you to see in person." He turned the page over.
The registered director of the company was listed as a woman named Sandra Voss.
I didn't recognize the name.
But below it, in the secondary contact field, was a phone number.
And next to the number, a handwritten note someone had added to the file at some point — a note that should not have been there, that had no official status, that existed only because someone had wanted to remember something.
*R.V.
— confirm before contact.*
R.V.
Ryan Voss.
I looked up at Tran.
"Ryan's wife," Tran said quietly.
"Her name is Sandra.
Sandra Voss."
I walked back to Interview Room Two.
Ryan was still seated.
Still composed.
He looked up when I came in and something in my expression made him sit straighter.
I placed the property record on the table next to the photograph.
"Your wife owned the house," I said.
He said nothing.
"Daniel was living in a house your wife owned.
Under a lease he signed.
And then he disappeared."
"I want my lawyer."
"You said that already.
Your lawyer isn't here yet.
I'm just talking."
"Then I'm done talking."
I sat down.
"Ryan.
A boy came into this station today with bruises on his arms and a hospital bracelet that belonged to my brother.
My brother who has been missing for nine years.
That boy is your stepson.
And a photograph of my brother was found in your car." I let that sit for a moment.
"You understand why I'm not going to let this go."
He looked at the table.
His jaw worked like he was chewing on something.
"Sandra doesn't know I had the photograph," he finally said.
"Where did you get it?"
He shook his head.
"Ryan."
"I found it in the house.
Years ago.
After Daniel stopped coming around." He looked up.
"I kept it because I didn't know what it meant.
I didn't know who his brother was."
"But you knew Daniel was gone."
"People leave.
He left."
"Or someone made sure he left."
Ryan's eyes went very still.
"I want my lawyer.
Right now.
I'm not saying another word."
I stood.
Picked up the photograph and the property record.
At the door I stopped.
"Evan said Daniel told him — if anything happened, find his brother.
Daniel knew something was going to happen to him, Ryan.
He knew.
And he made sure that boy would find me."
Ryan stared at the wall.
His face had gone the color of old concrete.
I left him there and walked back to find Evan.
Because if Daniel had left a message through that boy, there was more.
May you like
There was always more.
And Evan was the only one who knew what it was.
