The clerk lowered her voice. “Unless the birth was never registered. It happens more often than you’d think.”
As Tom walked to his car, pieces of the puzzle swirled in his mind. A house purchased with cash, a woman reported missing by her social worker, a child with no official records, and somewhere, a doll named Mea that meant everything to a little girl who had lost everything else.
Martin Henderson’s home was modest but meticulously maintained, much like the man himself. At seventy-two, the retired social worker retained the alert eyes and careful speech patterns of someone who had spent decades navigating bureaucratic minefields.
“I’ve been expecting someone to come asking questions eventually,” Henderson said, ushering Tom into a sunlit living room. “Though I thought it would be another social worker, not a police officer.”
“I’m here about Leanne Mills and her daughter, Amelia.”
Henderson’s expression remained neutral, but his hands tightened slightly around his teacup. “You found the child, then?”
“Three days ago, at the house on Maple Lane. And Leanne?”
“Missing, as far as we know.”
Henderson nodded slowly. “I feared as much. How is the girl?”
“Recovering physically. Emotionally…” Tom hesitated. “She’s spoken only a few words.”
“It’s a miracle you found her at all,” Henderson said. “I filed that missing person’s report three years ago, you know. Followed up monthly for the first year. No one seemed particularly concerned. Just another unstable woman who’d fallen through the cracks.” He explained how Leanne had been referred to his department after a domestic incident while she was pregnant, terrified her baby would be taken from her. She had been in an abusive relationship and had developed some unhealthy coping mechanisms, but she was determined to create a stable home for her child.
“But something went wrong,” Tom prompted.
Henderson sighed heavily. “The system failed her, Officer Shepard. It failed them both.” He described how budget cuts and a new director had led to Leanne’s case being downgraded, despite his concerns about her increasing paranoia and isolation. Then, one day, she was gone.
“The department records show that Amelia was taken into custody and placed in foster care,” Tom said.
Henderson’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “That never happened. Who told you that? It’s in the official record.”
“It’s a fabrication,” Henderson stood abruptly, moving to a small desk. After unlocking a drawer, he removed a worn manila folder. “I kept my own records. Unofficial, of course. Against department policy, but… I’ve been in social work for forty years, Officer. I know when documentation has been altered.” He handed the folder to Tom.
Tom opened it to find meticulously kept notes, copies of official reports, and photographs, including several of a younger Leanne with a toddler, Amelia. In one photo, the little girl clutched a handmade doll with button eyes. “Is this Mea?” Tom asked.
Henderson looked surprised. “The rag doll? Yes. Leanne made it for Amelia when she was born. Said it was a tradition in her family. Each child received a ‘guardian doll.’ Amelia was inseparable from it.”
“Mr. Henderson, who would have had the authority to alter official records about Amelia’s case?”
The retired social worker’s expression darkened. “Only two people. The department director, and the case supervisor who took over when I raised concerns… Robert Garrett.”
The name hit Tom like a physical blow. The same Robert Garrett from the domestic disturbance call.
Henderson’s eyes widened. “You didn’t know? Garrett joined the department six years ago. He was assigned as supervisor for my cases when I began asking too many questions about Leanne and Amelia.”
“I need to borrow these, Mr. Henderson,” Tom said, his mind racing.
“Of course,” Henderson gripped Tom’s arm with surprising strength. “But be careful. If records were deliberately falsified, someone has gone to great lengths to make these two people disappear.”
As Tom drove away, he couldn’t shake the chill that had settled in his chest. What had begun as a mystery about an abandoned child had transformed into something more sinister: a deliberate attempt to erase a mother and daughter from official existence.
The afternoon sky darkened as Tom pulled up to the house on Maple Lane, Henderson’s folder tucked securely under his arm. Inside, the house felt different now, layered with secrets he was only beginning to uncover. Tom moved purposefully through the rooms, searching with new knowledge. The photograph of Mea, the rag doll, had given him a clear target.
He returned to Amelia’s room, examining it with fresh eyes. Nothing. Frustrated, he sat on the edge of the bed, flipping through the photographs again. In most, Amelia clutched Mea to her chest, but in one, taken in the kitchen, the doll sat on a high shelf.
The kitchen looked exactly as he’d left it. His gaze traveled to the upper cabinets—too obvious. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on an old cast-iron stove in the corner. Unlike the rest of the kitchen, it appeared decorative. He approached it slowly, and when he tried the small iron door, it swung open easily, revealing a small, empty cavity. His disappointment was palpable, but something about the space seemed off. He reached inside, feeling along the back wall, his fingers detecting a slight seam. Pressing firmly, he felt a section give way, revealing a hidden compartment.
“Bingo,” he breathed, carefully extracting a bundle wrapped in faded fabric.
Unwrapping it on the kitchen table, Tom found not only Mea, the handmade rag doll with button eyes and yarn hair, but also a small, leather-bound journal. He gently set Mea aside and opened the journal to its first entry, dated just over three years ago.
They’re watching us again. I saw a car parked across the street for two hours today. When I went to check, it drove away. Robert has found us. I’m certain of it.
The entries continued, detailing Leanne’s growing fear and paranoia. In the final entries, dated just weeks earlier, her handwriting had become shaky, difficult to read.
The medicine isn’t working anymore. If something happens to me, whoever finds this, please tell my Amelia that everything I did was to protect her. Mea knows all our secrets. Mea will guide her home.
The last page contained only a name and address: Sarah Winters, 1429 Oakdale Drive. My sister. Amelia’s only family left.
Tom stared at the name, a jolt of recognition hitting him. Sarah Winters. Could it possibly be the same Sarah who worked as a nurse at the hospital? The Sarah who had been caring for Amelia?
Behind him, unnoticed in the storm’s shadows, a dark sedan pulled away from the curb, following at a careful distance.
The rain had subsided by the time Tom reached the hospital. He sat in the parking lot, Mea and the journal on the passenger seat, gathering his thoughts. If nurse Sarah was indeed Leanne’s sister, why would she remain silent? It made no sense, unless she, too, feared something—or someone.
Tom pulled out his phone and dialed Gloria from records. “Gloria, I need everything you can find on a Sarah Winters, currently working as a nurse at Pinewood Memorial. Also, what can you tell me about Robert Garrett’s current position with Social Services?”
Gloria’s fingers tapped audibly. “Garrett’s listed as Assistant Director of Child Protective Services, promoted last year. As for Sarah Winters… hmm, that’s interesting. She’s only lived in Pinewood for two years. Nursing license transferred from Oregon. It’s like she appeared out of nowhere.”
“Or changed her identity,” Tom murmured.
Tom tucked the journal into his jacket, keeping Mea visible as he entered the hospital. He found Amelia sitting up in bed, listlessly pushing food around on her dinner tray. When she saw him, her eyes brightened slightly. But when she spotted what he carried, everything changed. Her face transformed, eyes widening, a small gasp escaping her lips.
“I found her, Amelia,” Tom said softly, placing the rag doll in her arms. She clutched it to her chest with such intensity that tears sprang to his eyes.
“Mommy said Mea would keep me safe until someone good came,” she whispered.
“Your mom loved you very much, Amelia. Where is she?”
Her eyes filled with tears, but she nodded as if this confirmed something she already sensed. “She said she might have to go to Heaven, but Mea would stay with me.”
“Your mom wrote that Mea keeps secrets,” Tom said gently. “What did she mean?”
