Chapter 5

The glove was gone by morning.

Evelyn stood beside the bridge railing with both hands shoved deep into the pockets of her coat, staring at the strip of wet concrete where she’d seen it the night before. Rainwater still gathered in shallow cracks near the edge, reflecting pale morning traffic and the dull gray sky overhead.

Nothing remained there now.

No glove.

No tire tracks.

No proof she hadn’t imagined the entire thing out of exhaustion and adrenaline.

A cyclist passed behind her, wheels hissing through puddles, and for a brief second Evelyn considered how easy it would be to convince herself she’d hallucinated the car too.

Except she hadn’t.

She remembered the sound of the engine too clearly.

The waiting.

That strange certainty that whoever sat behind the windshield had been watching her instead of the bridge.

Her phone buzzed inside her pocket.

Mara.

“You answer your phone like a hostage victim now,” Mara said after Evelyn picked up.

“I’m busy.”

“You’re at the bridge again, aren’t you?”

Evelyn looked toward the river.

“I just needed to check something.”

“Eve.”

“I’m serious. There was a glove.”

“You said that last night.”

“And now it’s gone.”

A long pause followed.

Then Mara sighed. “You know normal people spiral by drinking wine and stalking exes online.”

“I tried that in college.”

“How’d it go?”

“Poorly.”

That earned the faintest laugh before Mara’s tone shifted again.

“I found Detective Mercer.”

Evelyn straightened slightly. “Already?”

“He’s still with NYPD, technically. Mostly cold cases now.” Mara paused. “I may have implied you were considering another Lena episode.”

“That’s not entirely a lie.”

“No, but it made him nervous enough to call back.”

“When?”

“He agreed to see you at eleven.”

Evelyn checked the time.

9:14.

“Where?”

“Downtown precinct.”

She looked once more toward the empty stretch of railing before turning away from the river.

“Send me the address.”

Detective Owen Mercer looked exactly like a man who had spent too many years standing inside bad fluorescent lighting.

His office sat near the back of the precinct behind rows of gray desks cluttered with paperwork and half-dead coffee machines. Rain streaked weakly across the windows overlooking Centre Street, tinting the entire room in washed-out daylight.

Mercer himself remained seated when Evelyn entered.

Tall once, probably. Broad-shouldered beneath the fatigue age had pressed into him. His tie hung slightly loose, and deep exhaustion lived permanently beneath his eyes.

He studied Evelyn for several seconds before speaking.

“You look like your mother.”

The comment caught her off guard enough that she forgot to sit immediately.

“You knew my mother?”

“Met her twice after the investigation.” Mercer gestured toward the chair across from him. “You were younger then.”

Evelyn sat carefully, placing her recorder on the desk between them.

Mercer looked at it without surprise.

“You planning to publish this?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“That usually means yes.”

His voice carried the roughness of someone who had stopped trying to impress people years ago.

Evelyn clicked the recorder on anyway.

“For the record—”

“Don’t.”

She blinked.

Mercer leaned back slowly in his chair. “Off the record only.”

Evelyn hesitated before turning the recorder back off.

The detective watched her quietly.

“You’ve been asking questions about Adrian Cross,” he said finally.

Not a question.

Evelyn felt her pulse shift.

“Yes.”

Mercer rubbed tired fingers across his jaw before looking toward the rain-streaked window beside them.

“That man should’ve stayed away from the case.”

“Why?”

“He complicated things.”

“How?”

Mercer gave a dry laugh that contained no amusement at all. “You think people like him ever explain themselves?”

Evelyn studied him carefully.

There was something strange beneath his irritation.

Not hatred.

Something closer to old resentment.

“You brought him onto the investigation,” she said.

“For three weeks.”

“And then?”

“And then the case was closed.”

The answer came too quickly.

Evelyn noticed the tension immediately.

“So Lena’s disappearance just... stopped mattering?”

Mercer’s expression hardened slightly.

“Lena Vale disappeared five years ago with no body, no witnesses, and no usable forensic evidence after a storm destroyed half the scene. Cases like that don’t magically reopen because podcast listeners get bored.”

“She was my friend.”

“And she’s still gone.”

The room fell quiet after that.

Outside, someone shouted across the bullpen before the noise dissolved beneath ringing phones and distant footsteps.

Mercer sighed heavily.

“Listen carefully,” he said more softly. “You built yourself a life after Blackwater. Don’t go digging through the graveyard just because the internet misses tragedy.”

Evelyn leaned forward slightly.

“What exactly did Adrian Cross do on the case?”

Mercer’s eyes shifted toward her again.

“He was a consultant.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Something about the phrasing sharpened her instincts immediately.

People who lied outright tended to become defensive. Mercer wasn’t defensive.

He was careful.

Like someone stepping around unstable ground.

Evelyn reached into her bag and slid the old newspaper article across the desk.

“You disappeared him from the reports afterward.”

Mercer barely glanced at it.

“That wasn’t my call.”

“Whose was it?”

No answer.

Instead, Mercer asked quietly, “Did Adrian tell you he remembered that night?”

Evelyn froze.

The detective noticed immediately.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

A cold feeling moved slowly through her stomach.

“What does that mean?”

Mercer ignored the question.

“He likes studying damaged people,” he said instead. “Makes him feel useful.”

“You sound like you know him personally.”

“We crossed paths.”

“That’s vague.”

“So is psychiatry.”

Evelyn exhaled sharply through her nose.

This was going nowhere.

She stood abruptly, shoving the article back into her bag.

Mercer watched her gather her things with the tired patience of someone waiting for weather to pass.

Then, just as she reached the office door, he spoke again.

“There was another girl.”

Evelyn stopped moving.

Slowly, she turned back toward him.

“What?”

Mercer’s expression remained unreadable.

Rain tapped softly against the windows behind him.

“She disappeared six months before Lena,” he said. “Similar circumstances.”

Evelyn stared at him.

“No one ever mentioned another victim.”

“Because officially there wasn’t one.”

“Officially?”

Mercer looked suddenly older than before.

“Twelve years in homicide teaches you something,” he said quietly. “Patterns only matter when people want them to.”

Evelyn took a step back toward the desk without fully realizing it.

“What was her name?”

For a moment she thought he might refuse.

Then:

“Elise Ward.”

The name settled heavily into the room.

Evelyn’s thoughts moved quickly now, connecting fragments before logic could catch up.

Another girl.

Another disappearance.

Another storm.

“Did Adrian work that case too?”

Mercer’s silence answered first.

Then the office door opened behind Evelyn.

She turned instinctively.

Adrian Cross stood in the hallway, rain-darkened coat folded neatly over one arm.

For one impossible second, all three of them remained still.

Mercer looked irritated.

Adrian looked unsurprised.

And Evelyn felt the sudden, nauseating sensation of stepping halfway into a conversation that had started long before she arrived.

“Dr. Cross,” Mercer said flatly.

“Detective.”

Adrian’s gaze shifted toward Evelyn.

Not startled.

Not curious.

As though he’d already known she would be there.

That disturbed her more than anything else.

“I wasn’t aware this was a social visit,” Mercer muttered.

Adrian ignored him.

“You left before our interview ended yesterday,” he said to Evelyn calmly.

Something in the wording unsettled her immediately.

Not

we were interrupted.

Not

you left suddenly.

You left before it ended.

As though he’d expected her to come back.

Mercer gave a quiet scoff before reaching toward a stack of case folders on his desk.

One slipped sideways slightly during the movement.

A photograph slid halfway free.

Evelyn saw it before either man reacted.

Bridge railing.

Rain.

A young blonde woman looking over her shoulder toward the camera.

Elise Ward.

Without thinking, Evelyn stepped forward and grabbed the photograph just as Mercer cursed sharply behind the desk.

And for the first time since Lena vanished, Evelyn felt the investigation move beneath her feet like something waking up.