Chapter 6 - The Woman Who Fed Him Through a Locked DoorDetective Elena Torres arrived at the hospital shortly after sunset.
She was in her early forties, with dark hair pulled into a practical ponytail and the calm, observant manner of someone who had learned that frightened people often revealed more through silence than speech.
She introduced herself, then asked Daniel whether he felt strong enough to answer a few questions.
He agreed.
I offered to leave.
Daniel shook his head.
“Stay.”
I returned to the chair beside him.
Torres opened a notebook.
“Mr. Bell, can you tell me the last thing you remember before losing consciousness?”
Daniel described Sunday evening.
He had confronted Claudia about consulting payments connected to Harbor Meridian, the company supposedly purchasing Eastbank Wharf.
She had denied wrongdoing at first.
Then she had cried.
She told him Peter was manipulating both of them.
Daniel said she offered him tea and promised to explain everything.
“Did you see her put anything in the tea?” Torres asked.
“No.”
“Did it taste unusual?”
“Bitter. But she said it was a new herbal blend.”
He looked ashamed.
“I should have known.”
Torres shook her head.
“You were drinking tea in your own home.”
She continued.
“What's your next memory?”
“Waking up in the archive.”
“Were you restrained?”
“Not with ropes. The door was locked. My phone and keys were gone.”
“Could you reach an exit?”
“No. The old service corridor was sealed on the drawing-room side. There was a utility sink and a ventilation system, but no usable way out.”
Torres made a note.
“Who brought you food?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Claudia.”
“How often?”
“Once a day. Water more often.”
“Did she speak to you?”
“Yes.”
“What did she want?”
He stared at his hands.
“The notebook. Peter wanted the original environmental records. Claudia kept asking where I'd hidden them.”
“And if you refused?”
“She said Peter would make things worse.”
Torres studied him.
“Did she threaten to kill you?”
“Not directly.”
“What did she say?”
Daniel swallowed.
“She said I needed to think about Sophie.”
My hands clenched.
Torres noticed.
She didn't interrupt.
“Did Peter enter the room?”
“Twice. At least.”
“What did he do?”
“The first time, he demanded the original documents. The second time, he brought papers.”
“What kind?”
“A written consent authorizing the Eastbank transaction. And something that looked like a power of attorney.”
“Did you sign?”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“He said I could leave after I signed.”
Torres leaned forward.
“Did he physically assault you?”
Daniel touched the bruise along his jaw.
“When I refused, he hit me.”
I felt anger rise so sharply that I had to stand.
Torres waited until I settled again.
“Why didn't you shout for help?”
“I did. The archive door was too far from the occupied rooms. Most of the time the ventilation fan covered the sound.”
He looked toward the window.
“Wednesday night, the fan stopped.”
I leaned forward.
Daniel continued.
“I heard something through the old wall grille. A little music box.”
Sophie's music box.
Mara had given it to her on her second birthday.
It played a gentle melody whenever the lid was opened.
“I knew she was nearby,” he whispered.
“So I called her name.”
His eyes filled.
“She answered.”
I put a hand over my mouth.
Daniel closed his eyes.
“I told her it was Daddy. I tried to tell her to get Grandpa.”
“Did she hear you?”
“I don't know. The fan started again.”
He began crying.
Quietly, helplessly.
“I thought I'd imagined her voice.”
Torres gave him a moment.
Then she asked, “Who controlled the ventilation system?”
“Claudia could change the settings upstairs. Peter knew the maintenance controls.”
Torres made another note.
“Thank you. That's enough for now.”
Before leaving, she asked me about the basement entrance and the earlier renovation.
I described the concealed service corridor, the archive, and the cabinet.
She listened carefully.
Then she asked, “Does your family have architectural plans?”
“Mara kept extensive records.”
“Please preserve anything you find. Don't search potentially relevant areas without coordinating with us. Our evidence team will handle the secured rooms.”
I agreed.
At the door, Torres paused.
“Mr. Bell, I also need to ask about your granddaughter.”
My chest tightened.
“What about Sophie?”
“She's the person who first reported hearing her father. We may arrange a developmentally appropriate interview with a trained child interviewer, with the appropriate permissions.”
“She's only three.”
“I know. We won't ask her to solve a crime.”
She gave me a small, reassuring smile.
“We just want to preserve what she remembers without putting words in her mouth.”
After Torres left, I called Rosa.
Sophie had eaten dinner and was building a pillow fort in the living room.
“She keeps asking when Daddy is coming home,” Rosa said.
“Tell her soon.”
There was a pause.
“Mr. Bell, there's something else.”
“What?”
“I think I should tell the detective.”
My heart accelerated.
“Tell me first.”
Rosa explained that she had returned to Ashcroft House briefly on Tuesday to collect medication she'd left in her room.
She had told Claudia she would stop by.
But when she entered through the service kitchen, she found the refrigerator nearly empty of ordinary groceries.
Only several containers of soup remained.
Claudia came downstairs carrying an insulated bag.
“She was very startled to see me,” Rosa said.
“What was in the bag?”
“I didn't see.”
“Did you ask?”
“Yes. She said she was taking meals to a friend.”
I closed my eyes.
“And now?”
Rosa's voice trembled.
“Now I keep wondering whether she was feeding your son while telling everyone he was in Boston.”
“Rosa, give Detective Torres everything you remember.”
“I will.”
I was about to end the call when Rosa added something else.
“Mr. Bell?”
“Yes?”
“There's one more thing about the cabinet.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Last Friday, before Mr. Daniel disappeared, Mrs. Claudia asked me to pack away all of Sophie's toys from the drawing room.”
“Why?”
“She said the room was being redecorated.”
I frowned.
“But nothing was redecorated.”
“Exactly.”
Rosa lowered her voice.
“She only insisted on removing one particular toy.”
“Which one?”
“Miss Sophie's music box.”
I stared at the hospital window.
“Did she say why?”
May you like
Rosa hesitated.
“She said the music was making someone nervous.”
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