Detective Daniel Hayes—the man who had handled Emily’s case from the start.
“Laura,” he said carefully, “I need you to come with me. We’ve found something connected to Emily.”
He drove her to a house she passed every day—an Airbnb on Oakridge Road. The place was crowded with forensic teams. Yellow tape surrounded the garage.
“We were renovating,” the construction foreman explained nervously. “We broke through the concrete floor—and found this.”
Beneath the slab, covered in dust and rust, was a small pink bicycle. The white basket was crushed but still recognizable. Purple and pink streamers still clung faintly to the handlebars.
Laura collapsed to her knees.
“That’s Emily’s,” she whispered.
The garage was silent except for the clicking of cameras.
Detective Hayes knelt beside her. “This changes everything. Someone buried it intentionally. Someone who had access to this property twelve years ago.”
Laura wiped her tears, struggling to breathe. “Who lived here back then?”
The detective exchanged a glance with his partner.
“The caretaker,” he said. “A man named Ernest Mallerie.”
In that moment, Laura noticed something she had never seen before.
Detective Hayes looked afraid.
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