Page 52 of The Advocate’s Ultimatum

Wednesday afternoon

JP pushed open the door to Sabre’s office building and greeted Elaine, the receptionist. She was on the phone, but she nodded for him to go ahead. Her door was open, so JP walked in without knocking.

Sabre was at her desk, files spread out, a water bottle at her fingertips. “You’re early,” she said.

“You’re still here.” JP stepped in and closed the door. “You didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Don’t start,” she said.

“Wasn’t going to,” he said. “What’ve you got?”

“Bay showed me something,” Sabre said. “She made it sound like it was important and that it should mean something to me.”

JP leaned against the desk. “What?”

“A mark on her wrist. It’s small, and at first, I thought it was a bruise, a scratch, or maybe a scar.”

“What did it look like?”

Sabre reached for a legal pad, then drew an image slowly, like she didn’t want to get it wrong.

“One straight vertical line,” she explained as she sketched. “Then a hook at the bottom, off to one side.” She lifted her pen and moved slightly higher on the line. “And another hook here, going the opposite direction.”

She slid the pad toward him, and JP looked at it. “Is it a tattoo?”

“Not a professional one,” Sabre said. “It was too rough and crude.”

“Did she tell you what it meant?”

“That she belonged to him, but she wouldn’t disclose who the man is. And she claimed I had seen it before.”

“Have you?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Did you push her?”

“No. Because she shuts down when I do. Then she closes up completely.”

JP pulled a chair over and sat, turning the pad so the symbol faced him straight on. He still didn’t recognize it.

“I’ve gone through Hannah Caldwell’s file several times,” JP said. “I know we’re missing something. She was five years old, disappeared after school, never found, and no body.”

“She was presumed dead,” Sabre added. “The case collapsed onto Victor Hayes, the live-in boyfriend.”

“He was the last adult who was supposed to be responsible for her. And the only one who couldn’t keep his story straight,” JP said. “But the child seemed to disappear into thin air. How did he have time to dispose of her body and get back to the house and fall asleep?”

“It never quite added up to me either, but it was enough to convict him.”

JP picked up the file, flipping through it with practiced speed. “His timeline’s a mess,” he said. “Three versions of where he was.”

“He admitted he lied,” Sabre said. “And finally fessed up to being at a bar.”

JP huffed. “Nothing sinks a man faster than changing his story. Truth might be complicated but lies are what juries remember.”

“Yes,” Sabre said.

“Was there any physical evidence?”