last few times, they stay quiet, and I thought about them with their hands over their ears like me.”
She breathed out, drank some tea. “He just screamed at her, horrible things, and I could hear thumps and crashes, things breaking or falling over. It was worse this time than the other times. I kept hearing something—her, I think—hit the wall. The shared wall between our houses. Then it stopped. At first, I thought, Thank God, it’s over.
“I felt sick. I was afraid to close the windows in case he heard and realized I’d heard him beating her. I went upstairs, and I couldn’t settle. I told myself to go to bed, just go to bed and I’d figure out what to do in the morning. Then I saw the van drive up.”
“What kind of van?”
“I don’t know. One of the order’s. Black, I think, and no windows. I turned off the lights in my room. They—two men—got a kind of stretcher on wheels out of the back and went next door, and with the windows still open I heard voices. Not what they said, they weren’t loud enough. And I needed to stay back so they didn’t see me looking. I saw, oh God, I saw them roll the stretcher out. They had her covered, they had her in a kind of bag, so I couldn’t see, but I know it was Marcia. It had to be Marcia. He killed her. He killed her.”
Zoe covered her face with her hands.
“What time was this, Zoe?”
“I guess about nine-thirty, or maybe ten. I think maybe ten. I was going to get the ’link I’d hidden and call nine-one-one, but they drove away.”
“Did you see a license plate?”
“No, I’m sorry. I thought, What if I call and the order comes here? What if Harley was right, and the police came and put me in jail? Then, not long after the van left, I heard him talking to the kids. I heard the kids crying, so I tried to see. He loaded the children in his SUV and drove away. And right after, like a minute after, another van came, a bigger one.”
“Black again, windowless?”
“Yes. People got out of it. I think four or five. They wore, like, coveralls? I think. And had their hair covered. They rolled these, like, trollies out of the back of the van and into the house. They were there at least two hours, probably more. I could hear machines, like big vacuums or something, and once or twice one of them came out with a big bag and tossed it in the back of the van.”
Cleaners, Eve thought. Crime-scene cleaners—the order’s cleaners.
“Then they loaded everything back up, and left. I thought, he killed Marcia, and they’re making it all go away. Like it never happened. What if Harley did that to me? What would happen to Gabe?”
She looked back at the monitor as if to assure herself he stayed safe.
“I sat in the dark, in case they came back. I waited in the dark until all the lights were out on the block. Then I waited more, just in case. I packed what I could without turning on any lights. Then I waited some more because I was too afraid to get the ’link. Then I went in to check on Gabe, and I just sat and looked at him sleeping for a long time. And I thought, no, no, he can’t be here, can’t be part of any of this. He’s my baby, and I have to protect him. So I finally got the ’link, and called nine-one-one. I begged Operator Harris to let me talk to you.”
“You did the right thing.”
“If I’d used the ’link earlier …”
“You couldn’t help Marcia. It was too late to help her. But what you’ve done now, what you’re doing now is going to help others.”
“Gina?”
“Yes. Did you get a look at any of the people who came—either van?”
“Sort of, yes. Maybe.”
“Would you work with a police artist?”
Her shoulders pulled in. “Do I have to go to the police station?”
“No, he can come here. You can trust him, too. You should get some sleep.” Eve stood and dug in her pocket for a card. “You can contact me at any time. I want you to tag me after you’ve gotten some sleep, when you’re ready to work with Detective Yancy, the police artist.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have family in Ohio?”
“My parents, my sister, but I don’t want to contact them.” Reaching out, she