Chapter 3 - The Word Claire
At Westchester General, Ellie sat in a hospital bed with warm blankets tucked around her knees. A doctor checked her breathing and the red marks on her arms.
“She is stable,” Dr. Naomi Reed told Graham. “But she was terrified and trapped in a dangerous place. We're documenting everything, and she needs time.”
Graham nodded, as though nodding could make him a better father than he'd been that morning.
Victoria waited outside, arguing with someone on her phone.
Lena sat beside Ellie while Detective Mara Sloane, a woman with kind eyes and a voice that didn't rush, pulled up a chair.
“I'm not going to make you tell me anything you don't want to,” Mara said. “Can I ask what you were doing before the laundry room?”
Ellie twisted the corner of her blanket.
“I was looking for the little blue house.”
“A toy?”
She nodded. “Mommy's house. The one for people who need somewhere safe.”
Graham straightened. His late wife, Claire, had founded Harbor House, a shelter outside White Plains. Ellie had been two when Claire died. He hadn't heard his daughter mention the place in years.
“Why were you looking for it?” Mara asked.
“Victoria said they're selling it. I told her Mommy wouldn't want that.”
The room went quiet.
“And then?” Mara asked.
Ellie's voice dropped. “Mr. Crane was there. They said Mommy found the wrong papers. Victoria said if I kept asking, Daddy would think I was bad.”
Elliot Crane was Graham's business partner. His oldest friend. The man who had arranged Claire's memorial service.
Graham felt the floor tilt beneath his shoes.
“Did Elliot touch you?” Mara asked.
“No. Victoria put me in the round room.” Ellie's lower lip trembled. “She said it was a lesson. Then I heard a man say, ‘She'll never tell anybody now.’”
Graham covered his face.
Lena drew the blanket over Ellie's shoulders. “You're not bad. And you don't have to be brave for us.”
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Ellie looked directly at her father.
“Daddy, why did Mr. Crane say Mommy's name like he hated her?”
