Safe Haven(84)

His mind began to clear and he noticed that she was about to leave. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way. I told Erin and she’s upset that she can’t be here. Did you get the flowers?”

“Oh, probably. I haven’t checked. The funeral home is full of them.”

“No big deal. I just wish Erin could have been here.”

“Me, too. I’ve always wanted to meet her. My mom told me that she reminded her of Katie.”

“Katie?”

“My younger sister. She passed away six years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Me, too. We all miss her—my mom did especially. That’s why she got along so well with Erin. They even looked alike. Same age and everything.” If Karen noticed Kevin’s blank expression, she gave no sign. “My mom used to show Erin the scrapbook she’d put together about Katie… She was always so patient with my mom. She’s a sweet woman. You’re a lucky man.”

Kevin forced himself to smile. “Yes, I know.”


He’d been a good detective but in truth sometimes the answers came down to luck. New evidence surfacing, an unknown witness stepping forward, a street camera catching a license plate. In this case the lead came from a woman in black named Karen Feldman, who crossed the street on a morning he’d been drinking and told him about her dead sister.

Even though his head still ached, he poured the vodka down the drain and thought about Erin and the Feldmans. Erin knew them and visited them, even though she’d never mentioned going to their house. He’d called her and dropped by unexpectedly and she’d always been home, but somehow, he’d never found out. She’d never told him and when he’d complained that they were bad neighbors, she’d never said a word.

Erin had a secret.

His mind was clearer than it had been in a long time and he got in the shower and washed and put on a black suit. He made a ham-and-turkey sandwich with Dijon mustard and ate it, then made another and ate it as well. The street was filled with cars and he watched people walking in and out of the house. Karen came outside and smoked another cigarette. While he waited, he tucked a small pad of paper and a pen in his pocket.

In the afternoon, people started filing toward their cars. He heard the engines start up and one by one they began to pull away. It was past one o’clock and they were going to the service. It took fifteen minutes for everyone to leave and he saw Larry Feldman being helped to the car by Karen. Karen got in the driver’s seat and drove off, and finally there were no more cars on the street or in the driveway.

He waited ten more minutes, making sure everyone had left before finally walking out his front door. He crossed his lawn and paused at the street and headed for the Feldmans’ house. He didn’t hurry and didn’t try to hide. He’d noticed that a lot of the neighbors had gone to the funeral and those who hadn’t would simply remember a mourner wearing a black suit. He went to the front door and it was locked, but there’d been a lot of people in the house so he walked around the side and headed to the back. There, he found another door and it was unlocked and he stepped into the house.

It was quiet. He paused, listening for the sound of voices or footsteps but heard nothing. There were plastic cups on the countertop and platters of food on the table. He walked through the house. He had time, but he didn’t know how much time, and he decided to start in the living room. He opened cabinet doors and closed them, leaving everything the way it had been before. He searched in the kitchen and the bedroom and finally went to the study. There were books on the shelves and a recliner and a television. In the corner, he spotted a small file cabinet.

He went to the file cabinet and opened it. Quickly, he scanned the tabs. He found a file labeled KATIE and pulled it out, opened it, and examined what was inside. There was a newspaper article—it turns out that she’d drowned after breaking through the ice of a local pond—and there were pictures of her that had been taken at school. In her graduation photo, she looked remarkably like Erin. In the back of the file, he found an envelope. He opened it and found an old report card. On the front of the envelope was a social security number, and he took the pad of paper and his pen and wrote it down. He didn’t find the social security card, but he had the number. The birth certificate was a copy, though it was wrinkled and worn, as if someone had crumpled it up and then tried to flatten it again.

He had what he needed and he left the house. As soon as he reached home he called the officer from the other precinct, the one who was sleeping with the babysitter. The following day, he received a call in return.