Page 84 of Falling For You

We found her in a park off Fremont. She was dressed in layers with dirt on her face. At first glance, it read as an unattended death. Probable overdose. No ID, no next of kin, no reason to look closer. But the dirt was wrong. Too even, too deliberate. Underneath it her skin was clear, her nails maintained. The clothes weren't hers. Everything about her said she'd been looked after until she wasn't. I recommended a sexual assault kit. The responding detective passed on it. She went into the system as a Jane Doe, and I didn't say another word about it.

"Detective Walsh?" A guard stood at the door. "We're ready for you."

I closed the folder and followed her through two sets of doors. The visiting area had white walls, bolted tables, and chairs that didn't move. She pointed me to a table near the back.

Daphne was already sitting there.

She looked better than the last time I'd seen her. The hollowness was gone from her face. Her hair was shorter, her posture straighter. She stood when she saw me.

"Daphne."

I hugged her before I sat down. She held on for a second longer than I expected. We sat across from each other.

"How are you doing?"

"Better." She folded her hands on the table. "I've been sleeping more. I made a friend. She's young. She reminds me of Sydney sometimes."

I listened to her talk about a friend, about sleeping more, about someone who reminded her of her sister in a way that didn't break her. She was healing. Even in here, she was finding her way back.

"I'm glad you have someone."

Daphne smoothed her hands across the table. "How is everyone? The bar, the crew, Selena?"

"Everyone's good. They miss you." I smiled. "Selena asked me to tell you she said hello."

Daphne looked down at the table and smiled. Her fingers curled around each other on the surface.

"I came because there's something I wanted you to know." I set the folder between us. "We arrested Armand McCarthy."

Daphne's head came up.

"It took a while, but we got him."

Daphne looked through the file, turning pages, reading names and dates she already knew by heart. Then her chin dipped and her eyes filled.

"Thank you, Andy."

I reached across the table and held her hand.

"There's something else I wanted to tell you." I shifted in my chair. "I'm starting an initiative within the department. An investigation unit for women who've experienced sexual violence. It's going to carry Sydney's name."

Daphne pressed her free hand to her mouth.

"It's not perfect," I said. "It's a start. But it means that the next time someone walks into a precinct to report a missing sister, their case gets worked. Properly. By someone who will listen."

Daphne squeezed my hand and the tears spilled over.

"I know this is all too late." My voice was steady but the edges of it were thin. "And I really wish I had pushed harder for Sydney back when we found her. I'm sorry, Daphne."

She held my hand with both of hers.

"Thank you," she said. "For coming here and telling me."

We talked about her friend, about the routine Daphne was building, about the books she was reading in the prison library. When the guard told us time was up, Daphne stood and hugged me again. She pressed her face into my shoulder.

"Take care of yourself," I said.

"You too, Detective."