Mara played the recording again.
"If they tell you I left willingly, they're lying."
Nora's voice was followed by a faint click, then silence.
Mara sat at her desk, staring at the cassette recorder. The words had changed everything. Until now, she had been following fragments of evidence, trying to connect a photograph, a hospital record and an altered police report.
But Nora had left a message.
She had known someone mighit claim she had disappeared voluntarily.
And she had specifically mentioned her mother.
Ask my mother about the letter.
Mara reached for her phone and called Ruth.
The call rang several times before it was answered.
"Hello?"
"Ruth, it's Mara."
A pause.
"Is something wrong?"
"I need to ask you about Nora."
Ruth sighed.
"Not again tonight."
"I heard something on the recording."
"What recording?"
Mara hesitated.
"Nora's."
The silence on the other end lasted several seconds.
"Where did you get that?"
"Inside Blackthorn House."
Ruth's breathing changed.
"What did she say?"
"She mentioned a letter. She said I should ask you about it."
Mara heard a faint sound, as though Ruth had sat down.
"I can't talk about this over the phone."
"Then meet me."
"Tomorrow morning. Before breakfast."
"Ruth—"
"Please, Mara. There are things you don't understand."
The call ended.
Mara placed the phone down.
For twenty years, Ruth had searched for her daughter. Yet she had never mentioned receiving a letter after Nora disappeared.
Why had she hidden it?
And what had Nora wanted her mother to know?
The next morning, Blackthorn House was unusually quiet.
Mara left her bedroom at half past six and walked towards the kitchen. She found Mrs Finch preparing tea.
"Good morning," the housekeeper said.
"Good morning. Have you seen Ruth?"
"Mrs Bell went outside a little while ago."
"Alone?"
Mrs Finch nodded.
"She said she needed some air."
Mara thanked her and stepped into the garden.
The sea wind was cold. Beyond the garden wall, waves crashed against the rocks below the estate.
Ruth stood near an old stone bench, holding something in her hands.
"Ruth?"
She turned.
"I suppose you want to hear about the letter."
Mara approached slowly.
"Only if you're ready to tell me."
Ruth looked towards the sea.
"Three days after Nora disappeared, I received an envelope. It had no return address. Inside was a short message written on a piece of paper."
"What did it say?"
Ruth unfolded a small photograph from her handbag.
"I kept this with it."
Mara looked at the photograph.
It showed Nora standing outside what appeared to be a hospital entrance. Her face was partially turned away from the camera.
"When was this taken?"
"I don't know. It arrived with the letter."
"What did the message say?"
Ruth's fingers trembled.
"It said, 'She's safe for now. Don't look for her. If you do, you'll put her in danger.'"
Mara felt a chill.
"Why didn't you tell the police?"
"I did. I showed them the letter. They said it could have been a cruel joke."
"Did they keep it?"
"No. They returned it to me."
"Do you still have it?"
Ruth nodded.
She opened her handbag and removed a folded piece of paper protected inside a transparent sleeve.
Mara read the message.
The handwriting was unfamiliar, but the words were clear.
She's safe for now. Don't look for her. If you do, you'll put her in danger.
There was no signature.
"Why did you keep this secret from me when I interviewed you?"
Ruth looked away.
"Because I was afraid."
"Of whom?"
"I didn't know. But the person who sent it knew where I lived. They knew what time I came home. They knew when I visited the police station."
Mara studied her.
"Did you ever receive another message?"
Ruth nodded.
"One more. About six months later."
"What did it say?"
"That I should stop asking questions."
Mara carefully returned the paper.
"Ruth, did you ever believe Nora was alive?"
"Every single day."
Her voice cracked.
"But believing something and proving it are different things."
Mara looked at the photograph again.
For the first time, she wondered whether Nora had been missing because she was unable to return—or because someone had made returning impossible.
At breakfast, Mara showed the photograph to Leah.
Leah examined it carefully.
"That's St. Agnes Hospital."
"You're certain?"
"I researched the hospital records for Harrow. The entrance was renovated in 2012. This photograph is older."
"Could it have been taken in 2006?"
"Possibly."
Mara told her about the letter.
Leah listened without interrupting.
When Mara finished, Leah placed the photograph on the table.
"There's something else you should know."
"What?"
"Before Judge Harrow died, he asked me to locate a particular hospital file. He gave me a reference number, but when I searched the archive, the file didn't exist."
"Was it connected to Nora?"
"I think so. The number appeared in one of his private notes."
Mara remembered the altered police report.
"Did the reference number begin with a date?"
Leah nodded.
"August 22, 2006."
Mara stared at her.
"That's the same date printed on the police report."
Leah looked surprised.
"How do you know that?"
"Daniel showed us the document yesterday."
For several seconds, neither woman spoke.
The report had been created on August 19, but its reference number belonged to a file registered three days later.
Now the same date appeared in Harrow's hospital notes.
Someone had connected the two records.
Someone had wanted them connected.
Later that morning, Mara found Simon Wren in the small library.
He was standing beside a window, reading an old newspaper.
"Dr Wren?"
He turned.
"Ms Vale."
"I need to ask you about the unidentified patient you treated in 2006."
His expression tightened.
"I've already told you what I remember."
"I know. But I have a photograph that might help."
She showed him the picture Ruth had given her.
Simon stared at it.
"Where did you get this?"
"From Ruth Bell."
He took the photograph carefully.
"I recognise the entrance."
"Could this be the patient you treated?"
"I can't say."
"She was wearing a pale jacket. She had a head injury. She arrived on the night Nora disappeared."
Simon looked at the photograph again.
"I remember the patient refusing to give her name. She was frightened, but she was conscious."
"Did she mention anyone?"
He hesitated.
"She asked whether someone had come looking for her."
"Who?"
"I don't remember."
"Did anyone visit her?"
Simon returned the photograph.
"There was a man."
Mara leaned forward.
"Who was he?"
"I never saw his face clearly. He spoke to the receptionist, then waited near the entrance."
"Did he meet the patient?"
"I don't know. I was called away before I could check."
"Was that during the missing forty-seven minutes?"
Simon looked at her sharply.
"Who told you about that?"
"You did."
He looked down.
"Then you know why I can't give you a definite answer."
Mara placed the photograph in her folder.
"One more question. Did the patient leave the hospital alone?"
Simon remained silent.
Then he said, "No."
Mara waited.
"Someone collected her."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
That afternoon, the seven guests were summoned to the study.
Adrian stood beside the desk, holding a small envelope.
"Judge Harrow left another instruction. This one concerns the hospital records."
Simon stepped forward.
"Where did you get that?"
"It was delivered to the house this morning."
"By whom?"
"There's no name."
Adrian opened the envelope and removed a single sheet.
He read aloud.
"The forty-seven minutes were not lost. They were removed. Find the person who authorised the removal, and you will understand why the investigation ended before it began."
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
"Who wrote this?"
Adrian turned the paper over.
At the bottom was a handwritten signature.
E. Harrow.
Evelyn Shaw frowned.
"That isn't possible. Edmund Harrow was dead before this invitation was sent."
"Perhaps he wrote it before he died," Leah suggested.
Daniel examined the signature.
"Or someone copied it."
Mara looked at Evelyn.
"Did you know about the hospital records?"
Evelyn's expression changed.
"I knew there were irregularities."
"Did you investigate them?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because the case was closed, and there was no evidence connecting the patient to Nora."
Mara held her gaze.
"But you knew the records were incomplete."
Evelyn said nothing.
Then Simon spoke.
"There's something I haven't told you."
Everyone turned towards him.
"The unidentified patient wasn't the only person whose records were accessed that night."
"Whose else?" Mara asked.
Simon looked directly at Daniel.
"The detective assigned to the case."
Daniel's face went pale.
"What are you talking about?"
Simon lowered his voice.
"Someone accessed your medical contact details on August 22, 2006. I don't know why. But the record was marked confidential."
Daniel stepped back.
"That's impossible."
Mara watched him carefully.
"Why?"
Daniel looked at the paper in Adrian's hand.
For the first time since arriving at Blackthorn House, he appeared genuinely afraid.
"Because," he said quietly, "I was never supposed to know about that record."
Nobody spoke.
Then a loud knock sounded at the study door.
Mrs Finch entered, holding a small package.
"This was left at the front gate."
Adrian took it from her.
There was no name on the outside.
Only seven words written in black ink.
FOR THE PEOPLE WHO LET HER DISAPPEAR.
Mara looked at the package.
Something inside it shifted.
And from somewhere beneath the wrapping came the faint sound of a phone ringing.