On our wedding anniversary, I brought dinner to my husband’s police station—he’s a policeman—then an announcement on the radio sent a chill down my spine.
A calm, unfamiliar voice drifted through the corridor.
“…the 1990 fire…”
Just four words. We could barely hear them, but I felt Ben stiffen next to me.
At the top of the stairs, he placed the lasagna on a small table against the wall.
« I’m sorry, » he murmured.
« Why? » I asked.
He opened his mouth, but there was no response. Together, we went back downstairs.
Linda looked up as soon as she saw us.
Her smile faded. « Is everything alright? »
Before either of us could answer, the phone rang.
She picked up immediately. « Reception. »
She listened.
Then his gaze shifted from Ben to me.
« Yes, Inspector, » she said softly. « She’s still here. »
She slowly put down the receiver.
Then she looked at me.
« Rachel… would you mind waiting here for a minute? »
All my instincts told me that something was seriously wrong.
I turned towards the stairs. Three officers were standing at the top.
None of them were looking at Ben anymore.
They were looking at me.
A grey-haired man, wearing a coat, began to calmly descend the steps.
He stopped a few feet from me.
« Rachel? » he asked.
» Yes ? «
« My name is Hale, I’m an inspector. »
His gaze briefly rested on the visitors’ register.
« I’d like to ask you a few questions… if you’re willing. »
He spoke calmly, but there was something in his gaze that made my stomach clench.
« I’d like to check a few details first, » he said. « Would you like to sit down with me for a moment? »
I glanced at Ben. He hadn’t moved. His gaze remained fixed on me, but he didn’t say a word.
Linda discreetly went around the desk and took the lasagna.
« I’ll keep that warm for you, » she said softly.
I nodded without really hearing him.
The inspector led me to a row of plastic chairs in the hall. He sat down opposite me, a large file resting on his knees.
« I want to tell you that I’m part of the Bellfield Regional Cold Case Squad. » He paused. « But before we continue, I need to verify your identity. »
He first checked my birth surname.
« And you were born on May 17, 1986 in Ashbrook? »
My mouth went dry. « Yes. »
He exhaled slowly. « Thank you. »
The file remained closed on his lap.
« So, Rachel, 30 years ago, a fire broke out in a house in Ashbrook. Two adults died. One child survived. »
I stared at him. « My parents… »
« Yes, » he agreed.
« A little over a year ago, » he continued, « our department reopened the case after advances in forensic analysis allowed us to examine evidence that could not be fully analyzed in 1990. »
He opened the file and slid a photo towards me. It showed the remains of a burned-out room.
« We found clear evidence that an accelerant had been used. »
I looked up. « So… »
« It wasn’t an accident, » he said.
I couldn’t believe it.
I had spent my whole life believing that my parents had died in a tragic accident. And then, in the space of a few seconds, that certainty vanished.
« It was arson, » said Inspector Hale calmly.
He searched the file again.
« There was something else. »
He placed another photo in front of me.
It contained a tape recorder made of melted plastic.
« It was found in your bedroom closet. »
I frowned. « A tape recorder? »
« There was a cassette inside, » he revealed to me. « But it was too damaged to be restored in 1990. »
He took a deep breath.
“Last month,” he continued, “an audio analysis laboratory managed to recover part of the recording.”
« What was on it? » I asked.
« The voice of a child. »
He looked at me intently.
« We think it was yours. »
I swallowed. « What did she say? »
« It was the man in the blue jacket who started the fire. »
I rested both hands on the edge of the chair.
Blue…
For a fraction of a second, a memory surfaced from the depths of my mind.
Smoke. Heat. Someone running towards the back door. A blue sleeve disappearing into the darkness.
Then it disappeared again.
« I don’t remember, » I murmured.
« That’s normal. »
Her voice remained calm. « Traumatic memories often return in fragments. »
I closed my eyes. « So, you’re looking for me? »
“Yes,” he replied. “For almost a year.”
« Why couldn’t you find me? »
“Well, we knew exactly who the surviving child was, and we had your birth name,” he began. “But after your adoption, all official documents from that point onward were reissued under your adoptive surname. Your adoption file remained sealed, and all requests we made to access it were denied.”
I glanced down at my signature in the visitors’ register.
« So today… »
« Today, you signed with your birth name. »
He gave a slight smile.
« We spent months searching databases for a Rachel with your birth name. »
« I… I almost didn’t write it, » I told him.
« If you hadn’t done it, » he admitted, « we might still be searching. »
One question had been nagging at me ever since he introduced himself.
« What does all this have to do with Ben? »
The inspector became noticeably more cautious.
« A few weeks ago, Ben contacted a colleague in another jurisdiction. »
« He asked if the investigation into the Ashbrook fire had resumed. »
I frowned. « He asked questions about my parents? »
« He never mentioned your name, » said Inspector Hale.
« So why did it matter? »
« Because the request was unusual, » he replied, leaning slightly forward. « It wasn’t enough to make him a suspect. We just noted it in case it became relevant later. »
« And tonight… » I stopped mid-sentence.
« When your signature appeared, we realized that his question might not have been a coincidence. »
I slowly turned towards the stairs. Ben was still standing exactly where I had left him.
His shoulders had slumped, and he looked like a man awaiting his verdict.
I turned back to Inspector Hale.
« I want to talk to him, » I whispered.
“Rachel…”
« I need to hear everything he’s been hiding from me. »
The inspector observed me for a long time before nodding.
« I understand, » he said, standing up. « I’ll leave you two alone. »
As we walked down the corridor, he stopped in front of a small interrogation room.
« If you need me, » he said in a low voice, « I’ll be right here. »
Ben and I sat down in the interrogation room.
He was clenching his hands so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
At first, neither of us spoke.
« Tell me the truth, » I broke the silence. « The whole truth. »
Ben lowered his eyes. « I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you this for six years. »
I felt like my heart stopped. « Six years? »
He nodded once. « I found out before we got married. »
« What did you discover? » I asked.
Ben stared at the table for several seconds before answering.
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