My nephew crawled seven blocks on a broken leg because there was no food for his little sister, but what he said about the man inside their apartment was even worse.

Officer Hensley called me Thursday morning and asked if I could come to the station. Not with the children. Not with Marlene. Just me.

His voice was careful.

I hated careful voices by then.

Mrs. Whitcomb stayed with the kids while I drove downtown. Dayton looked different after that week, familiar streets sharpened by the knowledge that danger had been only seven blocks away. People walked dogs. Buses stopped. A teenager skateboarded past the courthouse. The world kept moving with offensive normalcy.

Officer Hensley met me in a small interview room with beige walls and a table bolted to the floor. Beside him sat Detective Laura Michaels, a woman in a navy blazer with sharp eyes and a soft voice.

“We reviewed the materials recovered from the apartment,” Detective Michaels said. “Some of them are relevant to the criminal case against Travis Reed. Some involve Marlene’s safety. We also found something we think you need to know as the children’s temporary guardian.”

My stomach tightened. “What?”

Officer Hensley slid a photo across the table.

It showed Bodie’s backpack.

The blue one with dinosaurs he had carried to kindergarten.

“What am I looking at?”

Detective Michaels tapped the front pocket. “There was a hidden audio recorder sewn into the lining.”

I stared at her.

“Who put it there?”

“Marlene,” she said.

I sat back.

For one second, anger sparked. Had Marlene been recording her children? Had she placed another object on Bodie without telling anyone? Then Detective Michaels slid over a printed note in Marlene’s handwriting.

If something happens to me, Tessa, check Bodie’s blue backpack. I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to put it. He takes it everywhere because Travis doesn’t check school things when the teacher is watching.

My throat closed.

“Your sister recorded incidents over several weeks,” Detective Michaels said. “Not continuously. Short files. Some capture threats. Some capture sounds from inside the apartment. One captures Travis talking to another man.”

“What other man?”

“That’s what we’re trying to identify.”

She opened a laptop but did not press play yet.

“I need to warn you,” she said. “It is upsetting.”

“I’ve been upset since Friday.”

“This may be different.”

I looked at the laptop.

“Play it.”

The recording began with muffled movement. A television in the background. Travis’s voice, low and irritated.

“She thinks she’s leaving,” he said. “Keeps looking at that sister’s house like it’s a damn rescue mission.”

A second male voice answered. Older. Rough. “Then make sure she can’t.”

My skin went cold.

Travis laughed. “I got the kids. She won’t go anywhere.”

The other man said, “Kids are useful that way.”

I stopped breathing.

The recording rustled. Somewhere in the distance, June cried. Bodie whispered something I couldn’t make out.

Then Travis said, clearer, “The boy’s the problem. He watches too much.”

The older man replied, “Then teach him what watching costs.”

Detective Michaels paused the recording.

I realized my hands were flat on the table, fingers spread, as if holding myself down.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“We hoped you might know.”

“I don’t.”

Officer Hensley slid another photo over.

It was from a traffic camera outside Marlene’s apartment building. Travis stood near a dark pickup truck, speaking to a man with a shaved head and a tattoo on one side of his neck. The image was grainy, but something about the man’s posture made my stomach twist.

“I’ve seen him,” I said.

Both officers leaned forward.

“Where?” Detective Michaels asked.

“At Marlene’s old job. Not the diner. The warehouse place before that. He came in once when I picked her up. She said he was just some guy from shipping.”

“What name?”

I closed my eyes, searching memory.

Marlene had been flustered that day. A man stood too close while she tried to clock out. He laughed when I walked in, like my presence was amusing.

“Duke,” I said suddenly. “Someone called him Duke.”

Detective Michaels wrote it down.

“Do you think he’s involved?” I asked.

“We think Travis may not be acting alone.”

The room seemed smaller.

“Why?” I asked. “What would anyone want with Marlene?”

Detective Michaels’s face softened in a way I did not like.

“Your sister recently received notice of a settlement, correct?”

I blinked. “What settlement?”

Officer Hensley looked at Detective Michaels.

She slid another paper across the table.

It was a letter from an attorney’s office addressed to Marlene Grady. The letter referenced a workplace injury claim from the warehouse where she used to work. A settlement had been approved.

Amount: $48,750.

I stared at the number.

“Marlene never told me.”

“Travis knew,” Detective Michaels said. “According to text messages, he believed the money would arrive this month.”

The pieces shifted.

Control was not just about cruelty.

It was about money.

It was about ownership.

It was about keeping Marlene scared until the check came.

“When does she get it?” I asked.

“According to the attorney, funds were scheduled for release next week.”

“And Travis knows?”