Chapter 13 - Camille
The hospital locked down in ninety seconds.
It was ninety seconds too late.
A camera showed Hilda in stolen scrubs pushing Camille in a covered laundry cart through a service elevator.
Another showed an ambulance leaving the rear dock during the fire alarm.
The plate was fake.
I wanted every road blocked.
Every helicopter airborne.
Every private security contractor in Tennessee searching.
Detective Ortiz grabbed my arm.
"No private teams."
"She has my daughter."
"And if armed civilians flood the area, she panics. You want your daughter back, not a war."
I hated her calm because I needed it.
Rosalyn clung to Mara.
"Millie gone."
"I know, sweetheart."
"Miss Hush take."
"Yes."
Rosalyn suddenly pushed away and reached for her stuffed rabbit.
Not Camille's rabbit.
Hers.
She squeezed the belly.
A tiny recorded voice played.
"Sleep tight, my Rosie."
Elena.
I froze.
"That toy records?"
Mara turned it over.
A small zipper ran beneath one leg.
Inside was an old digital recorder.
Not a toy feature.
Something Elena had hidden.
Calvin connected it to a laptop.
Dozens of short recordings appeared.
Most were lullabies.
The final file was dated the night before Elena died.
Her voice trembled.
"Hilda knows I copied the shipment ledger. If anything happens, the original is where Sophie used to watch the trains."
Calvin looked up.
"I know that place."
The old hospice sat above a rail line.
But there was another viewing point two miles west--an abandoned signal tower.
Police rushed there.
Inside the tower they found the original ledger.
And a live phone connected to a charger.
Hilda's phone.
A map app was open.
One destination pinned.
Elena Mercer Memorial Warehouse.
My company had named the facility after her six months after her death.
A warehouse beside the Cumberland River.
I stared at the pin.
May you like
Hilda wasn't running from Elena's memory.
She was taking Camille straight into it.
