your dog has gotten out through an open door.” Nina took the comment as victim-blaming.
“Yes, I know that, but—”
She halted mid-sentence, feeling suddenly immobilized. With all that was going on, she hadn’t seen the parallels clearly until Detective Wheeler inadvertently brought them to her attention: the first time Daisy had gotten out she’d faulted herself for leaving the front door partially open. What if she hadn’t left it open either time? What if someone had been inside her house and taken Daisy, leaving the door ajar to make it look like that was how she had got out? And what if that same person miraculously found her dog in the woods and brought her back, adding burrs to her fur to heighten the ruse? She became upset enough for Wheeler to take notice.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“No, I’m not,” said Nina, as the magnitude of what she was now realizing struck her with great force. Simon could have ingratiated himself into Nina’s life and the lives of her children predicated on a terrible, cruel, and calculated lie. It was entirely possible he had taken Daisy that day and brought her back so he could play the hero.
And she had no doubt he’d taken her again.
From her pocketbook, Nina removed her last-gasp effort—the printout of an image Connor had shown her that morning. They’d been monitoring pictures from the camera across from Simon’s house on an app Connor downloaded to his phone. She hoped for a clearer shot. This one was a bit like the Loch Ness Monster—grainy, blurry, and extremely difficult to make out.
Nina was reluctant to admit she was spying on Simon. She certainly had concerns about the legality of a camera pointed at a private residence. But there were other ways to explain the image she was presenting.
“Look at this,” she said, sliding the printout across the table. Wheeler unfolded the printout and studied it closely.
With her index finger, Nina circled a dark, oblong shape that could have been anything, including a bit of curtain or a shadow. But in this context, she knew, as did the children, that the indistinct shape was without a doubt their Daisy.
“What’s this?” Wheeler asked.
“It’s my dog, in the window of Simon’s house. You can see her?” Nina made it sound like the answer should have been a resounding yes.
Wheeler took another look. “Where did you get this?”
“I took a picture of Simon’s house when I went looking for Daisy. Is that illegal?”
Wheeler said it wasn’t, but his expression also said he didn’t necessarily believe her story. Thankfully, he didn’t press her for a better explanation.
“Yeah, I can’t get a search warrant off this, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said, handing Nina back her printout.
“But that’s Daisy!” Nina sounded exasperated.
“It could be anything, which is exactly what a judge would say. I want to help you, I really do, but our hands are tied, legally tied. I can’t get a search warrant, so I suggest if you think Simon has your dog, go talk to him and try to get her back.”
Nina took that as her cue to leave. She thanked Detective Wheeler for his time, thinking to herself that she might have to do more than just talk.
With a hopeful heart, Nina tried Hugh Dolan’s number again, figuring it was her last shot at getting Detective Wheeler on her side. If the police weren’t going to believe photographic evidence, perhaps Hugh had some key fact in his possession, something that would turn a suicide into murder and a murder investigation into a search warrant.
Nina listened to the rings—one, two, three—expecting her call to go right to Hugh’s gruff voice mail greeting. Someone answered this time, but to Nina’s surprise, the speaker was female. She had a thick New England accent and a smoker’s voice, coarse as sandpaper.
“Who’s this?” said the caller.
Nina introduced herself as a friend of Hugh’s and asked if she could speak with him.
“Hugh’s dead,” the woman said curtly. “I’m Catherine, his girlfriend. Well, his sometimes girlfriend.”
Nina went cold inside.
“Dead?” She drew out the word, her voice quavering slightly. “What happened?”
“Overdose.” Catherine was matter-of-fact about it, as if this sad outcome was long expected. “I found him a few days ago. We were supposed to hang out, but he didn’t show, so I called the cops. And they found him, in his apartment, needle still in his arm.”
“I’m … I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Nina wasn’t sure what to say, or how to say it. As her thoughts