Chapter 7 - The Red House
Ortiz refused to let me go.
I went anyway.
"Your wife is in active labor," she said in the hospital parking garage.
"And my father is being moved by people who kept him hidden for eleven years."
"That's why police handle it."
"Police believed he was dead for eleven years."
Her jaw tightened.
"Be sorry in the passenger seat. You're not driving."
The coordinates led north toward a reservoir outside the city. Two patrol cars followed us with their lights off.
The red house sat alone behind dead eucalyptus trees, one porch light burning.
The front door was unlocked.
Inside, the place smelled like antiseptic and old wood.
A hospital bed stood in the living room.
Empty.
An IV bag still dripped onto the floor.
Ortiz touched the mattress.
"Warm."
A noise came from the back room.
Officers raised their weapons.
"Police! Show your hands!"
An elderly man stepped into the doorway wearing pajama pants and a cardigan.
For one insane second, I thought it was my father.
It wasn't.
He lifted both hands.
"Don't shoot. I'm a nurse."
His name was Arthur Pell. He had worked private home care for years.
"Where's Henry Sterling?" I demanded.
He stared at me.
"You're Noah."
I stopped breathing.
"He talked about you every day."
"Where is he?"
Arthur looked toward the back window.
"They took him ten minutes ago. A woman came with papers."
"My mother?"
"No. Younger. Blonde."
Ortiz showed him a photo of Victor Dane's daughter and law partner, Elise.
Arthur nodded.
"Her."
"Where did they go?"
He swallowed.
"She said the marina."
Then he reached into his pocket and handed me a small digital recorder.
"Henry told me if anyone named Sterling ever came looking, I should give you this."
I pressed play.
May you like
My father's voice, weak but unmistakable, filled the room.
"Noah, if you're hearing this, your mother knows you found me. Do not let her take the baby."
