Chapter 6: The Caseworker at the Door
The caseworker arrived the following afternoon.
Her name was Patricia, and she was younger than I expected — mid-thirties, with a calm that felt practiced rather than natural, the kind of calm that comes from having seen too much to be easily rattled.
Ruth was with me.
I had asked her to stay.
Patricia sat at the kitchen table with a notepad and listened to both recordings in full without interrupting.
She listened to the first one twice.
When she finished, she set her pen down.
"Ben said 'in case something happens,'" she said.
"Did he ever say anything to you directly about what he was afraid might happen?"
"No.
He was careful.
He never said anything specific."
"And Sophie — did she speak to you about home at all?"
"She asked me once if I missed people when they went away." I paused.
"I told her yes, very much.
She said she thought missing people was the worst feeling in the world.
Then she went back to her coloring book."
Patricia wrote something down.
"How did she seem physically?
Appetite, sleep, energy?"
"Quieter than usual.
She ate less than I would have expected for a child her age.
She slept a lot in the afternoons."
"Any visible marks or injuries?"
"None."
Patricia nodded slowly.
"And the father — Adam — have you spoken to him since yesterday?"
"He called last night.
He said things were complicated but they were handling it.
He told me the children were fine." I kept my voice level.
"He needed three seconds to say it."
Patricia looked up from her notepad.
"I've been his mother for forty-two years," I said.
"I know when he's lying."
She held my gaze for a moment, then wrote something else down.
"Carol, I want to be honest with you about where we are.
The recording is significant.
The threat Tara made to Ben is the kind of language we take seriously — using access to a loved one as a control mechanism directed at a child is a recognized pattern." She chose her words carefully.
"However, a single recorded conversation and behavioral observations are the beginning of an investigation, not the end of one.
We will need to speak with the children directly."
"When?"
"We'll make contact with the family within the next forty-eight hours.
A home visit will be scheduled."
"Will Tara know it's coming?"
Patricia paused.
"Standard procedure is to notify the family."
Ruth leaned forward.
"So Tara will have time to prepare."
"That's a concern I understand," Patricia said.
"I can't make promises about procedure.
What I can tell you is that trained caseworkers know how to speak with children in ways that are difficult to coach around.
Children tell us things." She looked at me.
"Especially children who have already shown they want to tell the truth."
After Patricia left, I stood at the front window and watched her car pull away.
"She believed us," Ruth said from behind me.
"I know."
"But believing us and being able to act fast enough are two different things."
I turned around.
"What are you saying?"
Ruth looked at me steadily.
"I'm saying that Tara is going to know a caseworker is coming.
And I'm saying that a woman who searched a child's belongings looking for a recorder is not going to sit quietly and wait."
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
*"You should have stayed out of it.
This is going to get very ugly for your family.
I hope you're ready for that."*
I showed it to Ruth.
She took a photograph of it immediately.
May you like
"That," she said, "goes to Patricia tonight."
I was already dialing.
