Avery stared at the ceiling.
Then suddenly sat upright.
“My rabbit.”
“What?”
“My blue rabbit.”
She pushed the blanket away.
“I need him.”
“Where is he?”
“Hawthorne House.”
Bear hesitated.
“Avery—”
“Mommy put something inside him.”
Bear froze.
“What?”
“I don’t know. She told me never to open the stitches unless somebody said Daddy hurt her.”
Bear’s blood turned cold.
For three years, the entire town had said exactly that.
Daniel Hale was serving thirty-two years at Jefferson City Correctional Center for Emma’s murder.
The prosecution’s most emotionally devastating evidence had not been forensic.
It had been a recorded interview with four-year-old Avery.
Daddy was angry.
Daddy made Mommy cry.
Daddy said she would be sorry.
Avery remembered almost none of it.
But Marian Bell had conducted the interview.
Jasmine Cole obtained authorization to recover Avery’s personal belongings from Hawthorne House.
At 11:17 p.m., a blue stuffed rabbit arrived at the hospital inside an evidence bag.
One ear was missing.
Its belly had been stitched several times.
Avery pointed.
“There.”
Investigators photographed everything before opening the seam.
Inside the stuffing was a tiny digital recorder sealed inside a plastic sleeve.
Beside it was a brass key.
Bear stared at the recorder.
Emma had been an accountant.
Careful.
Organized.
Suspicious of coincidences.
He pressed both palms against his face.
“You knew something,” he whispered. “God, Emma, you knew.”
State investigators copied the files.
There were nineteen recordings.
Most were mundane.
Phone calls.
Office meetings.
Notes Emma had dictated to herself.
Then came File Seventeen.
Emma’s voice filled the hospital consultation room.
“If anyone hears this, something has gone very wrong.”
Bear closed his eyes.
Avery squeezed his hand.
Emma continued.
“I’ve spent eight months reviewing reimbursements connected to Fairview Family Services. Children listed as receiving counseling were never seen by licensed counselors. Beds were billed after children left placements. Emergency grants disappeared into subcontractors that share addresses with donors to Judge Vale’s campaign.”
Jasmine immediately began writing.
Emma named Marian Bell.
A county administrator.
Two contractors.
Then Sheriff Rourke.
Bear’s jaw tightened.
Emma’s voice continued.
“Dean says he wants out, but every time I press him, he says Lorraine knows things about everyone.”
Judge Lorraine Vale.
Family-court judge.
Founder’s Weekend grand marshal.
The woman whose signature appeared on Avery’s emergency order.
Then came another voice.
Female.
Older.
Cold.
“You are confusing evidence with power, Emma.”
Emma answered:
“You forged reports on parents.”
“You don’t understand the system.”
“You destroyed families.”
“We protected children.”
“You protected your friends.”
Silence.
Then Judge Vale again.
“If you make these accusations publicly, no one will believe you.”
Bear looked at Avery.
Avery whispered:
“That’s what they say.”
On the recording, Emma replied:
“Then I’ll give them something they can’t ignore.”
The audio ended.
File Eighteen was damaged.
Static.
Footsteps.
Emma breathing rapidly.
Then a man’s voice.
Daniel.
Avery’s father.
“Emma, we have to leave tonight.”
“I can’t.”
“They know.”
“I made copies.”
