Chapter 10: Carol Speaks
Her name was Carol Marsh now.
She had remarried eight years ago — a quiet ceremony in a small town in Idaho, according to the county records Diane had found.
Two daughters, both in their twenties.
A house she owned outright.
A job at a local school district, administrative work.
She had moved four times in three years after leaving Portland.
Diane gave me a phone number.
"She may not pick up for a number she doesn't recognize," she said.
"You might need to leave a message."
"What do I say?"
"The truth.
Briefly.
Give her a reason to call back."
I sat at my kitchen table that evening and dialed.
It rang five times.
I was already composing the message in my head when the line clicked open.
"Hello?" A woman's voice.
Careful.
Neutral.
"Carol Marsh?"
A pause.
"Who's calling?"
"My name is Rachel.
My stepmom's name is Eleanor.
She received your letters eleven years ago — from Portland.
About a man named Daniel."
The silence on the other end lasted long enough that I thought she'd hung up.
Then: "How did you find me?"
"A paralegal colleague.
I'm sorry for reaching out this way.
I wouldn't have if it wasn't urgent."
Another pause.
"Is he there?
Near you?"
"He came to my stepmom's care facility two days ago.
He's been extorting her for two years.
We've stopped the payments and we've contacted an attorney." I kept my voice even.
"I'm not calling to frighten you.
I'm calling because our attorney thinks your experience may be relevant, and because my stepmom has wondered for eleven years whether you were all right."
A long breath on the other end of the line.
"I'm all right," Carol said.
"It took a while.
But I'm all right."
"I'm glad."
"Your stepmom — Eleanor — she wrote back to me.
Did you know that?
She was the only one who did.
His father never responded.
But she wrote back three times."
"She told me."
"I stopped writing because he found one of her letters.
In my house." Her voice was steady, but the steadiness was the kind that gets built over years, not the kind that comes naturally.
"He didn't say anything about it directly.
He just moved the letter from where I'd left it to the middle of the kitchen table.
So I'd know he'd seen it.
So I'd know he was watching." She paused.
"I left six weeks later."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be.
Leaving was the right thing.
I just wish I'd done it sooner." A brief silence.
"What does your attorney need from me?"
"Whatever you're willing to give.
The police report, if you filed one.
Your account of what happened.
Your willingness to be contacted formally." I hesitated.
"Only if you're comfortable.
You don't owe us anything."
"I filed a report," she said.
"They told me it was a civil matter because his name was on the account.
I hired a lawyer of my own.
We sent a demand letter.
He never responded and we never found him to serve him properly." She paused.
"I kept everything.
Every document.
I kept it because I always thought — if he did this to someone else, I wanted there to be a record."
My eyes stung.
"There's someone else," I said quietly.
"My stepmom.
She's seventy-one and she's been paying him two thousand five hundred dollars a month for two years to keep him away from me."
Carol was quiet for a moment.
May you like
"Give me your attorney's name," she said.
"I'll call him tomorrow."
