“Vale Manufacturing?”
I nodded.
“The owner who disappeared with the pension money?”
“Yes.”
“That happened twenty-five years ago.”
“And Rachel knew him.”
Daniel studied the photograph again.
“That’s impossible. She would have been a teenager.”
“She was.”
“Who is the man?”
“I don’t know.”
From outside came the muffled sound of car doors and radios. The officers were preparing to leave with Marcus and Rachel.
Daniel held the photograph beneath the kitchen light.
“There’s something beneath the ink.”
He rubbed the edge with his thumb. The black mark began to flake away.
The face underneath slowly emerged.
Daniel dropped the photograph.
I bent and picked it up.
The man standing beside my husband was older in the picture, with darker hair and a heavy mustache.
But I recognized the eyes.
I had seen them less than an hour earlier.
“Marcus,” Daniel whispered.
“No,” I said.
The front door suddenly opened.
