Chapter 4: The Man Who Asks Questions
I went home that night, but I didn't sleep.
I lay in bed running through everything my daughter had told me, turning it over the way you turn a stone to see what's underneath.
Derek.
A police officer.
A man who knew how systems worked because he worked inside one.
A man who had already dismantled one shelter with a single phone call.
By six in the morning I was at the kitchen table with a notepad, writing down what I knew and what I didn't.
What I knew: Carla was safe for now.
She had Lily.
She had my daughter and Tom.
She had three days, maybe less.
What I didn't know: how close Derek actually was.
I found out at nine-fifteen, when my daughter called.
"He came to the street," she said.
Her voice was flat and controlled in the way that means the opposite.
"When?"
"Last night.
After you left.
He was parked at the end of the block for about forty minutes.
Tom watched him from the upstairs window."
"Did he get out of the car?"
"No.
He just sat there."
I pressed my hand flat on the table.
"Does Carla know?"
"Not yet.
I didn't want to frighten her before I had to."
"You have to," I said.
"She needs to know what she's dealing with.
She's been dealing with it longer than any of us."
A pause.
"You're right."
"I'm coming over."
"Mom, you don't have to—"
"I'm coming over."
I was in the car in ten minutes.
When I got there, Tom was at the front window, standing just far enough back that he wouldn't be visible from the street.
He turned when I came in.
"He hasn't come back this morning," he said.
"But that doesn't mean much."
"No," I agreed.
"It doesn't."
My daughter was in the garage with Carla.
I knocked softly on the door frame before I stepped in.
Carla was sitting up on the blanket, Lily awake now and nursing.
She looked at me with the same careful watchfulness as the night before, measuring whether I was safe.
"I heard you come back," she said.
"I told you I would."
She almost smiled.
Not quite.
My daughter stood beside her.
"I told her about last night."
I looked at Carla.
"How are you doing with that?"
"I'm not surprised," she said.
"He doesn't stop.
That's the thing people don't understand about him.
He doesn't get angry and then get over it.
He just — keeps going.
Like it's a job."
"Has he found you before?
After you left?"
"Three times." She adjusted Lily against her.
"The first two times I went back because I was scared of what he'd do if I didn't.
The third time—" She stopped.
Her jaw tightened.
"The third time he told me that if I ever tried to leave again, he'd make sure I lost Lily.
That he had friends in family services.
That no judge in this county would side with me over him."
The garage was very quiet.
"Do you believe he could do that?" I asked.
"Six months ago I would have said yes, absolutely." She looked down at Lily.
"Now I think — I think he's been saying that because it worked.
Because I believed it.
I'm not sure how much of it is real and how much of it is just — him knowing what would keep me in place."
That was a hard-won piece of thinking.
The kind that takes a long time and costs something to get to.
"We're going to move you in the next two to three days," I said.
"Somewhere he won't know to look.
But I need to ask you something first, and I need you to be honest with me."
"Okay."
"Is there anyone in your life — a friend, a family member, anyone — who might tell him where you are?
Not out of malice.
Out of not understanding how serious this is."
Carla was quiet for a moment.
"My mother," she finally said.
"She likes Derek.
She thinks I exaggerate.
If he called her—" She shook her head.
"Don't contact my mother."
"We won't."
"My sister knows I'm safe but not where I am.
That's how it should stay."
I nodded.
"Agreed."
Tom appeared in the doorway.
His face had changed.
"There's a car on the street," he said.
"Different car.
Not Derek's.
But the driver's been sitting there since you arrived."
Nobody moved for a second.
Then Carla said, very quietly, "He switches cars.
He borrows them from people at the station."
Tom pulled out his phone and took a photo through the window without stepping close to it.
"I'm going to go out the front," I said.
"Normally.
Like I'm just visiting my daughter.
If someone is watching, they should see an ordinary grandmother coming and going."
My daughter started to object.
"I'm sixty-three years old," I said.
"I am the least suspicious person on this street.
Let me be useful."
I smoothed my jacket, picked up my handbag, and walked out the front door.
The morning was cool and bright.
I walked to my car at a normal pace, opened the door, set my bag on the passenger seat, and took a long moment pretending to look for something in the glove compartment.
The car Tom had photographed was a gray sedan, parked two houses down.
The driver was a man I didn't recognize.
He was looking at his phone.
Or pretending to.
I started my car and drove away.
I went around the block, parked on the next street over, and called Tom.
"He followed you to the corner and stopped," Tom said.
"He's back in front of the house now."
"Then he's not sure yet," I said.
"He's watching, not moving.
That means Derek doesn't know for certain.
He suspects."
"That's not much comfort."
"It's enough to work with." I looked at the quiet street around me.
"Two days.
We move her in two days.
Can you make that happen?"
A pause.
"I'll make some calls."
"Good." I put the car in gear.
"And Tom — don't tell Carla about the second car yet.
She's holding herself together.
Let's not take that from her until we have to."
I drove home the long way, watching my mirrors.
The gray sedan didn't appear again.
But I knew better than to take comfort in that.
Derek was patient.
My daughter had said it herself.
He didn't get angry and then get over it.
May you like
He just kept going.
Like it was a job.
