A Human Hand Reached Through My Kitchen Floor—Then It Said My Name

Mae Ramos opened her door with a pistol in one hand and recognized Lily before I said a word.

The retired detective was seventy now, silver-haired and sharp-eyed.

"Get inside," she said.

Old case files covered Mae's living room.

When Lily mentioned Ashcroft, Mae's jaw tightened.

"I knew they didn't send you away willingly. I just couldn't prove where."

"Why did you leave the case?" I asked.

"I didn't. I was removed."

She pulled a folder from a locked cabinet.

In 2008, Mae had traced a payment from Carter Development to a deputy chief. The next morning, her supervisor ordered her to stop investigating Lily's disappearance as possible foul play.

Two days later, Internal Affairs opened a false complaint against Mae.

"I saved copies," she said. "Your mother found me before she died."

My throat tightened.

Mae showed us Helen's last statement.

My mother believed Harold had arranged Peter Wynn's death and falsified Lily's medical records. She also believed William - me - had been assaulted the night Lily disappeared.

"Why didn't Mom go public?"

"She was building a case. Then her brakes failed."

Silence filled the room.

Clara put a hand over her mouth.

Mae looked at her. "You were the girlfriend."

Clara nodded.

"I gave Harold the letter."

"And then?"

"I tried to steal it back. Owen caught me. Harold said if I told William, my mother would lose her cancer treatment. His foundation was paying for it."

Mae's face softened only slightly.

"Fear explains silence. It doesn't erase it."

"I know."

That was the first time I believed Clara understood the difference.

Mae turned to Lily.

"You said Harold visited Ashcroft last winter?"

"Yes."

Mae walked to a desk and opened a laptop.

"Then you're going to want to see this."

She brought up a property record.

Graystone Custodial Services owned three buildings.

One was Ashcroft.