Page 107

“We identified the man captured outside the beach house.”

“Who is he?” Willow asks.

“Marcus Bell.”

Thomas grips the back of a chair.

“Arthur Bell had two sons,” he says. “Elliot and Marcus.”

“Marcus has worked for Pacific Beacon Recovery for eleven years,” Marquez continues. “He had this in his pocket.”

She places the evidence bag on the table.

Inside is an old photograph.

The edges are worn, and a crease runs through the center.

It shows five young girls standing with our father beside the railing at Lands End.

I recognize the picture.

Mom took it three days before Dad died.

I was thirteen.

On the back, someone has written five names.

Storm.

Willow.

Ivy.

Calle.

Hazel.

Four have black lines drawn through them.

Only my name remains untouched.

Ben’s body goes rigid beside me.

“What does that mean?” Mom whispers.

Marquez looks directly at me.

“We believe the attack on the beach house was a diversion.”

“A diversion from what?”

“They weren’t trying to reach your sisters.”

Ben takes the photograph from the table.

“They wanted Calle separated from them.”

Marquez nods.