Chapter 3 - THE SISTER WHO HAD BEEN DEAD FOR EIGHT YEARS WAS IN A HOSPITAL
Finding Erin took thirty-six hours.
The name Rachel Mercer led nowhere useful at first.
The cleaning contractor listed on Eva’s old school forms no longer employed her.
Her prepaid phone went straight to voicemail.
Her bank account had not moved in twelve days.
Carter went back to the station.
Milo appeared at six.
Same platform.
Same place.
He watched the tracks.
Carter sat beside him.
“I found Eva.”
The dog looked forward.
“Not very conversational.”
Milo stayed until 1:19.
Then walked with Carter instead of leaving alone.
That detail hurt unexpectedly.
Eva stayed temporarily with Carter and Hannah after emergency kinship paperwork was arranged and her identity was confirmed.
Her birth certificate named:
Eva Mercer.
Mother:
Erin Louise Hale Mercer.
Father:
Samuel Mercer.
Samuel had died six years earlier from an overdose in Nevada.
That explained why Erin returned east.
Not why she stayed hidden.
The breakthrough came from Grand Central.
A janitorial supervisor recognized Erin’s photograph.
“Rachel?”
Hannah leaned toward the phone.
“Yes.”
“She cleans at One Vanderbilt.”
“When did she last work?”
“Twelve days ago.”
“What happened?”
“She left early.”
“Why?”
“Said she was dizzy.”
The supervisor hesitated.
“Then somebody called me two days later asking if she worked here.”
“Who?”
“Older man.”
Hannah looked at Carter.
“What name?”
“He said Douglas Hale.”
Her father.
The supervisor had given him nothing.
But Erin had left New York that night.
Station records showed her Metro-North pass tapped through Grand Central at 10:52 p.m.
No exit record could prove she reached Stamford.
Carter checked public incident logs.
A pedestrian accident occurred in Port Chester that night.
Another in New Rochelle.
Nothing matched.
Then Hannah called every hospital between Manhattan and Stamford.
Most could not disclose patient information casually.
A police missing-person report changed the process.
By the next afternoon, Detective Naomi Perez called.
“We may have located your sister.”
Hannah sat down.
“Where?”
“Westchester Medical Center.”
Carter froze.
“What happened?”
“A woman was brought in eleven days ago after being found unconscious near a bus stop in White Plains.”
“Accident?”
“Looks like a fall related to a seizure or medical event. No obvious assault.”
Hannah closed her eyes.
Not every bad thing had to be a crime.
That almost felt merciful.
“She had no ID?”
“Her bag was stolen before paramedics arrived or never recovered. We don’t know.”
“Why wasn’t she identified?”
“Fingerprints didn’t return anything useful. She was listed under an unknown-patient number until yesterday.”
“Is she awake?”
“Intermittently.”
Hannah was standing before Perez finished speaking.
They drove to Valhalla.
Eva came with them after the social worker agreed.
At the hospital, the woman in the bed looked nothing like the photographs.
Too thin.
Hair cut short.
Bruising around one temple.
But when Hannah entered, Erin opened her eyes.
For several seconds, neither sister moved.
Hannah whispered:
“Erin?”
Erin stared.
Then at Eva.
Her face collapsed.
“Baby.”
Eva ran to the bed.
The nurse stopped her from climbing fully onto it because of lines and monitors.
Eva held her mother’s hand.
Milo was not allowed inside.
Carter waited in the hallway with the dog after getting special permission for him to remain near the entrance.
Hannah stayed beside the bed.
Erin’s speech was slow.
She had suffered a severe electrolyte imbalance and seizure caused by untreated kidney disease.
Not terminal.
Serious.
Manageable with care.
She had been skipping appointments.
No insurance for months.
Working nights.
Hiding.
Hannah cried silently.
“You were here.”
Erin closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Three years.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Erin opened her eyes again.
There was something harder there.
“You know why.”
“No.”
Erin gave a tired laugh.
“Hannah.”
“I don’t.”
Erin looked toward Eva.
“Not now.”
“Dad told us you died.”
Erin’s face changed.
“What?”
“He said you died in Nevada.”
Erin stared at her sister.
Then began laughing.
It turned into coughing.
The nurse came in.
Afterward, Erin whispered:
“Of course he did.”
Hannah took her hand.
“Eva gave me Mom’s trust.”
Erin went still.
“You opened it?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know.”
“I know what the paper says.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Hannah looked confused.
Erin’s expression sharpened despite exhaustion.
“You still don’t remember?”
“Remember what?”
Erin turned away.
Carter watched from the doorway.
Hannah whispered:
“Erin.”
Her sister spoke into the pillow.
“You signed his statement.”
Hannah froze.
“What statement?”
Erin looked back at her.
“The one saying you watched me steal the seventy-two thousand.”
Hannah’s face drained of color.
Carter stared at his wife.
Hannah whispered:
“I was twenty-two.”
May you like
Erin closed her eyes.
“So you do remember.”
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