Orla Leary was not just angry. She was furious.

  “Why didn’t you call me, Inspector? I seem to be just as involved in this case as you are.”

  She rushed to the station the moment she learned that Angela had been released. Leary had called Molly that morning to ask how things were going and had been shocked by the news.

  “When exactly did she come to you?”

  “On Monday. But I acted exactly as you advised me to, Dr. Leary.”

  “You did everything right. Does anyone else know?”

  “Detective O’Halloran came on Monday and tried to question Angela.”

  “He came on his own?”

  “No. I called him.”

  “Then why didn’t you call me?”

  The silence on the line was more than convincing. Molly would not have called anyway. It was already Wednesday. Two full days had passed, more than enough time to inform the doctor. If Orla had not called herself, she would have remained completely in the dark. No, she held no grudge against Molly. She was certain O’Halloran had made sure of that. That was precisely why she was now standing in his office.

  “Do you even realize how serious this is?” she went on. “The girl spent an unknown amount of time in a basement. She could be sick. She might have worms, lice. Anything at all. She needs to be taken to the hospital and examined thoroughly. A dentist might even be able to help identify her. And,” she pointed an impeccably manicured finger with a red-polished nail at O’Halloran, “before you questioned her, I should have spoken to her first. No wonder you got nowhere.”

  While Leary poured out her indignation, Shane sat back in his chair, relaxed. He did nothing but turn his head from side to side, trying to keep track of Orla, who stubbornly refused to sit down. Psychologists.

  “From my point of view, I did quite well.”

  “Oh really? Molly told me how ‘well’ you did. The girl ran away and refused to answer your questions.”

  “She did respond, but she got upset when she couldn’t write a word. That’s why she ran off. Of all people, you should know that any pressure right now could push her into further withdrawal.”

  “She wrote something?” Leary asked, drawing her brows together.

  Shane saw no reason to hide it from her. He slid his notebook toward her and opened it to the page where a crookedly scratched letter K could be seen. Orla leaned closer, studying it.

  “From a pedagogical standpoint, Mrs. Daniel,” Shane began, “Angela writes as if she’s in her first or second year of school.”

  Leary frowned even more.

  “The letter is written with heavy pressure, which suggests energy and persistence,” Orla analyzed aloud, paying no attention to O’Halloran. “This is a predominantly sociable person, someone who easily makes contact and likes people. When faced with failure, she tries to overcome it rather than fixating on it. That’s precisely why our Angela survived such a horrible place.”

  “You’re quite the professional,” Shane exclaimed, crookedly smiling.

  “Did you doubt it?” Orla shot back proudly. At last she sat down and continued studying the letter.

  “The letter K is slightly angular. I could say more if she had written vowels. One letter isn’t enough. If all her letters are angular, then she’s active, independent, possesses a critical mind and ambitious aspirations. For a more detailed analysis, I need her to write a full sentence.” Leary looked at Shane. “Why K? What was she trying to write?”

  O’Halloran took his notebook back and looked thoughtfully at the letter.

  “I asked her to write her real name.”

  “So her name begins with a K,” Orla said quietly.

  She fell silent. On the detective’s desk stood a curious Scandinavian ornament, a dog with a human body fashioned in an Egyptian style. She stared at it for a long time with an unfocused gaze.

  “What are you thinking about, Doctor?”

  She flinched, as if Shane’s words had pulled her out of a trance.

  “Thinking? Well… I was just considering that if the girl knows her name but can’t write it, we could try another approach. For example, show her a list of names beginning with K. Or show her films with heroines whose names start with K. Gradually, that way…”

  “And how many films would she need to watch, Dr. Leary, before she recognizes her own name? We don’t have that kind of time.”

  “Then there’s only one option. Hand the girl over to us. At the hospital, they’ll show her as many films as necessary.”

  “Are you planning to torture her?”

  “Watch your language, Inspector,” Orla said through clenched teeth as she stood up. “I want to see her. Immediately. And you, Mr. O’Halloran,” she addressed him for the first time as an ordinary citizen, “will not dare interfere with my work.”

  “Be my guest,” Shane drawled ironically as he rose and grabbed his jacket from the hanger. “You’re welcome to work as much as you like. But it would be better if I were present during this meeting.”

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  Orla threw her head back and laughed loudly.

  “Are you afraid I’ll tie the girl up and drag her off to my bungalow?”

  Shane caught up with her. He was perfectly serious when he asked,

  “Do you have a bungalow?”

  “I have a cozy office with a soft couch, where clients feel as if they’ve entered paradise,” Leary replied proudly.

  “In that case,” Shane said, opening the door for her like a true gentleman, “I wish you luck. If Angela agrees, I’ll be glad. But no force.”

  “You stole my words, Inspector,” Orla remarked as she headed for her car.

  Shane followed her the entire way. He wasn’t even sure what he was afraid of. What was so terrible about examining a girl who had lived in a filthy basement for months? Doctors knew their job and wouldn’t hurt her. Perhaps she would start talking sooner and save him unnecessary work. So why couldn’t he simply give the order and take the girl out of the Daniels’ house? Shane felt an inner resistance to carrying out the necessary measures. Remembering Angela’s innocent young face, it seemed to him that as long as she lived in her own small world, no one had the right to violate it. Today, he would allow Orla to speak with her. But if anything went wrong, he would question her professionalism.

  As always, Molly greeted them with the same warm kindness that drew people to her. Shane thought she must have been a beloved teacher in her day. Such a bright soul could hardly inspire anything else. And the way Angela gravitated toward her.

  “Tea or coffee?”

  “Coffee, if possible,” Orla said.

  Shane declined.

  “I think I’ll take a look at the basement. They were supposed to run wiring and install lamps there.”

  “They worked on it all day yesterday, Inspector. I think they managed to do something. But if you like, I can give you my flashlight.”

  “Thank you.”

  Molly brought out a large round flashlight, replaced the batteries, and handed it to Shane. As he closed the front door, he heard Molly telling Orla that she was going to fetch Angela. At that moment, he felt strangely uncomfortable. He loosened his tie, breathing felt unbearable in such tightness, and rolled his neck. Taking a deep breath in and then out, he went down the wooden steps and turned toward the garden.

  As he passed the fence, he glanced unintentionally at the houses across the way. They looked empty, lifeless. No curious neighbors, not even the sound of barking dogs. A strange place, eerie and oddly alluring. In one of the houses, a curtain twitched. Someone was watching. Not him. The house.

  Shane turned away and followed the path to the old shed, where electricians had been working for the second day. Evan Gallagher met him there.

  “I didn’t know you were here,” O’Halloran said in surprise. “There’s only a van in the front yard.”

  “I came with them this morning. My car broke down.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “They installed the lamps, and now the basement is well lit. Bag and I, the photographer, examined her makeshift home. He’s still taking photos. I needed some air. You can barely breathe down there. The smell is awful.”

  They walked slowly toward the open shed door. Gallagher wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

  “The girl relieved herself in the compartment where potatoes were probably meant to be stored. The ground is completely dug up.”

  “She buried her waste like a cat?”

  “Looks like it. There’s a little shovel in the corner.”

  “All right. What else did you find?”

  “We’re just getting started, Shane. Anita and AJ will be here by lunchtime to help.”

  “What I’m wondering,” Shane said, frowning, “is how that opening near the mattress appeared in the basement. There’s earth there.”

  Gallagher glanced toward the area where the ground hadn’t been irrigated, overgrown with long grass yellowed beneath the snow.

  “What do you think, will they let us mow the grass?”

  “For now, we won’t touch anything.”

  Bag emerged from the shed and waved to Gallagher.

  “Evan, you have to see this. Oh, Shane. You’re just in time. I found something.”

  O’Halloran and Gallagher hurried down. This time, the basement was brightly lit by daylight lamps installed in three places. The space was fairly large, stretching around the entire perimeter of the shed. Shane had previously seen only a small portion of it. Beyond the stairs, it continued, but at first glance nothing unusual stood out.

  Along the wall, from floor to ceiling, stood metal shelving, clearly meant for storing preserves and jams. Now they held scraps of metal, stacks of old yellowed newspapers and magazines, aluminum pots, empty dusty jars, and various odds and ends. On one shelf, jars filled with rot stood in a row. One of those had already been sent for examination. The far right wall was blocked by huge boxes, and an old chair without a seat had been pushed against it. In the corner, Shane noticed a tap.

  “Did you check it?” he asked Gallagher, nodding toward it. “Does water run from it?”

  “Yes. But it’s yellow. I doubt Angela drank it. Though… when there’s no choice…”

  “Over here!” Bag called out.

  He was beckoning them beneath the stairs. Angela’s little house had been dismantled, and Shane could now clearly see what her lair had been made of. But Bag was pointing at the wall.

  “What is it?”

  “First, look at this,” Bag said, picking several books up from the floor. “A primer, a math book, and… a Bible. Textbooks from fourteen years ago.”

  Shane took the books and flipped through them. The pages weren’t written in, but it was clear they had been handled many times. And the Bible suggested that the former owners of the property might truly have been religious fanatics, if sacred scripture had ended up in the basement.

  “What are these marks?”

  O’Halloran looked up and saw Evan staring at the wall.

  “That’s exactly what I wanted to show you,” Bag said excitedly. “I was photographing and didn’t understand it at first. But when I looked closer, it hit me. It’s a tally.”

  “A tally,” Shane repeated, recalling how he and Orla had tapped on the stairs while Angela tapped back in reply. “Any idea what it’s counting?”

  Gallagher straightened up.

  “There are twelve marks in a line. There are a little over nine such lines.”

  “What do you mean, a little over?”

  “Twelve in nine lines, and only seven in the tenth. Because we found her.”

  Now Shane bent closer to the wall, counting the lines with growing astonishment.

  “One mark is one month. One line is one year. That can’t be possible,” he exclaimed, turning to his colleagues. “Does that mean she lived here for nine and a half years?”