Chapter 4 - The Missing Death
The crematory had never received Emma Carter.
Not under that name.
Not under any infant matching her birth date.
The funeral home had records of a memorial arrangement, but no body transfer.
Their director from seven years earlier, Martin Wells, had retired.
Detective Morgan found him in North Carolina.
Wells remembered Charles Carter.
“Very commanding man.”
He remembered Claire too.
“He said hospital had handled remains through a private neonatal service.”
Did Wells verify?
“No.”
Why not?
“Family provided death certificate paperwork and requested memorial only.”
There had never been ashes.
The white urn I carried home was symbolic.
Empty.
I sat in Robert’s office holding that fact.
“Empty?”
“Yes.”
I thought about keeping it beside Emma’s hospital bracelet for seven years.
Birthdays.
Christmas.
The first day of kindergarten when I looked at Ethan and wondered what his sister would have worn.
All built around an empty urn.
I wanted to destroy something.
Instead I called Dr. Mills? No need another therapist yet.
I called Susan.
“Put Ethan on.”
“Dad?”
“Hey.”
“Is Emma okay?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see her?”
“Soon.”
“Is she my sister?”
I paused.
“We’re waiting for one test to make it official.”
“She is.”
“I know you think that.”
“No, Dad. I know.”
“How?”
He whispered:
“Because she knows the song.”
“What song?”
“You sing it when I can’t sleep.”
My chest tightened.
An old lullaby my mother used to sing.
I had sung it to Ethan since infancy.
“How would Emma know?”
“She said the lady used to sing it.”
“What lady?”
“Martha.”
A name.
I sat upright.
“Who is Martha?”
“I don’t know. Emma says Martha took care of her before Mom brought her here.”
Before.
There.
“Did she say when?”
“No.”
“Anything else?”
“She said Martha got sick.”
I stopped.
“Ethan, don’t ask her more.”
“Why?”
“Because adults trained to help are going to talk with her.”
“Okay.”
“Did Emma tell you anything without you asking?”
“She said Mom promised the room was only for a little while.”
My stomach clenched.
“How long has she been there?”
“She said five sleeps when I found her.”
Five sleeps.
Not seven years.
I called Morgan immediately.
Police searched the hidden room again.
Among books, one library stamp:
HENRICO COUNTY MOBILE LIBRARY.
Two hundred miles away? Actually Henrico near Richmond, not far. Good.
Another book bore handwritten:
To Emma, love Martha.
Then clothing labels.
E. VOSS.
Morgan ran property.
A Martha Voss, sixty nine, former neonatal nurse, owned a cottage outside Charlottesville until six weeks earlier.
The cottage had been sold through a Carter family holding company.
Martha herself had been admitted to a rehabilitation hospital after a stroke.
Alive.
We drove the next morning with her attorney and detective.
Martha had weakness on one side but could speak.
When Morgan showed Emma’s photograph, Martha began crying.
“My baby.”
I nearly lost control.
“She is not your baby.”
Martha looked at me.
“Daniel.”
“You know me.”
“I watched you grow up.”
I stared.
She had worked for my grandfather years earlier.
A private nurse.
“Why did you have my daughter?”
Her attorney touched arm.
Martha asked to speak anyway.
“Claire brought her.”
“When?”
“Three days after hospital.”
“Three days?”
“Yes.”
I had been told Emma died before twenty four hours.
“Who else?”
Martha looked away.
“Your father.”
There it was.
“Charles knew she was alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said it was temporary.”
“For seven years?”
Martha started sobbing.
“At first I believed them.”
“What did they tell you?”
“That the trust situation had to be fixed before you could know.”
“What trust situation?”
“I didn’t understand.”
“Did you think I didn’t want Emma?”
Martha’s face collapsed.
“That is what they told me.”
I stood.
Robert put hand on my arm.
I sat again.
Martha continued.
“They said you were overwhelmed. That you had chosen Ethan because Emma was sick. That you wanted private placement.”
I laughed once.
“Did you ever speak to me?”
“No.”
“Then how could you believe that?”
“I knew Charles.”
“Exactly.”
She cried.
Morgan redirected.
“How long did Emma live with you?”
“Almost seven years.”
“Was she confined?”
“No.”
“School?”
“Home tutor.”
“Doctors?”
“Private.”
“Under what name?”
“Emily Voss.”
“Did she know Daniel was father?”
Martha hesitated.
“Not at first.”
“When?”
“Around five.”
“Who told her?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“She asked why other children had fathers.”
I closed eyes.
“Did Claire visit?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Every month or two.”
“Charles?”
“Less.”
“Why did Emma leave your cottage?”
“My stroke.”
“What happened?”
“Claire came before ambulance transferred me. She took Emma.”
“Where?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Did you object?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Martha whispered:
“The audit is starting. We can’t leave her here.”
Audit.
What audit?
Robert’s face changed.
The trust’s seven year independent accounting was scheduled this quarter.
A mandatory review triggered when Ethan turned seven.
If Emma existed, the review would expose everything.
May you like
Claire had not moved Emma behind my kitchen wall randomly.
She had moved her because seven years of paperwork were about to be examined.
