“You were injured.”
“Where?”
“Outside the warehouse.”
“What kind of injury?”
“Head trauma.”
Evelyn looked down at the note.
She had no memory of being injured.
No memory of the warehouse.
No memory of standing beside Thomas Reed.
She remembered receiving the news of his death.
She remembered attending the memorial.
She remembered the photograph of him displayed beside the flag.
But she did not remember the night he disappeared.
Carter continued.
“You were found near the road. Your vehicle had been damaged. You were unconscious.”
“Who found me?”
“State troopers.”
“Was Thomas with me?”
“No.”
“Was anyone else?”
Carter looked away.
“A woman.”
“Who?”
“I don't know her name.”
“Did you interview her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she was gone before I arrived.”
Evelyn closed the folder.
“Who ordered the operation closed?”
Carter answered quietly.
“Samuel Grant.”
“Who signed the final report?”
“You did.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“I did not.”
Carter nodded.
“I know.”
“Then who signed it?”
He reached into his jacket again.
This time, he removed a photograph.
It showed a desk in a dark office.
A woman was seated behind it.
Her face was partially obscured.
But her hand was visible.
She was signing a document.
Evelyn recognized the watch.
She had worn the same watch for almost twenty years.
She looked at the photograph.
Then at Carter.
“Where did you get this?”
“From the archive.”
“Who is the woman?”
Carter swallowed.
“That's what I was hoping you could tell me.”
Evelyn stared at the photograph.
The woman was wearing her watch.
Holding a pen.
Signing her name.
But the face was not hers.
It belonged to someone else.
Someone who looked almost exactly like her.
Chapter 11 — The Woman in the Photograph
Evelyn sat down slowly.
She examined the photograph again.
The image was old, grainy, and poorly lit. It had been captured by a security camera positioned above the office entrance.
The woman in the image had silver at her temples.
She wore a dark suit.
Her posture was straight.
Her left hand rested beside a folder while her right hand signed a document.
From a distance, the resemblance was unmistakable.
But Evelyn knew one thing.
She had never been in that room.
“Who else has seen this photograph?”
“Only me.”
“Does Grant know you have it?”
“I don't think so.”
“Does Whitaker?”
“I don't know.”
Evelyn placed the photograph inside her folder.
“Where did you find the archive?”
Carter hesitated.
“An abandoned federal records facility.”
“Location?”
“North of the city.”
“Why didn't you report it?”
“I tried.”
“To whom?”
“My previous supervisor.”
“Name?”
Carter looked at her.
“Assistant Director Helen Mercer.”
Evelyn frowned.
“Mercer retired.”
“Three years ago.”
“Why would she have the archive?”
Carter shook his head.
“She didn't have it. She told me where to look.”
Evelyn stared at him.
“Did she tell you why?”
“She said Thomas left something behind.”
“What?”
“A recording.”
Evelyn stood.
“Where is it?”
Carter looked toward the door.
“I don't have it.”
“Who does?”
“Mercer.”
Evelyn reached for her phone.
Before she could dial, the screen lit up.
An unknown number.
A message appeared.
YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE ARRESTED GRANT.
Another message arrived.
HE WAS THE ONLY PERSON KEEPING THE OTHERS QUIET.
Evelyn stared at the screen.
Then a third message appeared.
THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH IS STILL WORKING FOR YOU.
She looked up.
Carter was watching her.
“Who sent that?”
“I don't know.”
“Can we trace it?”
“Not from this device.”
Evelyn typed a response.
WHO ARE YOU?
The reply arrived almost instantly.
ASK YOURSELF WHY YOU HAVE NO MEMORY OF THE WAREHOUSE.
Evelyn put the phone down.
Carter stepped closer.
“Agent Brooks, we need to get you out of here.”