"Why?" Detective Warren asked bluntly when I had wrapped up the geography lesson. She spread out her hands. "It's an interesting story except you never said why your family was running."

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"My father never gave me the details. He considered it his job to worry, my job to be a child."

She arched a brow. I couldn't blame her. By the time I was sixteen, I'd become skeptical of that platitude myself.

"Birth certificate?" she asked crisply

"For my real name? I don't have one."

"Driver's license, Social Security card? Your parents' wedding license? A family photo? You must have something."

"No."

"No?"

"Original documentation can be found and used against you." I sounded like a parrot. I suppose for most of my life I had been one.

Sergeant Warren leaned forward. This close I could see the shadows under her eyes, the fine lines and pale cheeks of someone who was operating on little sleep and even less patience. "Why the hell did you come here, Annabelle? You've told us nothing, you've given us nothing. Are you looking to get on the news? Is that what this is about? You're going to claim the identity of some poor dead girl in order to snag your fifteen minutes of fame?"

"It's not like that-"

"Bullshit."

"I told you already, I had only minutes to pack and I didn't think to grab my scrapbook."

"How convenient."

"Hey!" My own temper was starting to rise. "You want some evidence? Go get it. You're the goddamn police after all. My father worked at MIT. Russell Walt Granger. Look it up, they'll have a record. My family lived on 282 Oak Street in Arlington. Look it up, there'll be a record. For that matter, dig in your own damn case files. My whole family disappeared in the middle of the night. I'm pretty fucking sure you got a record."

"If you know that much," she replied evenly, "why haven't you followed up?"

"Because I can't ask any questions," I exploded. "I don't know who I'm afraid of!"

I pushed back from the table abruptly, disgusted by my own outburst. Sergeant Warren straightened more slowly She and the other detective exchanged another glance, probably just to piss me off.

Warren got up. Left the room. I stared at the far wall resolutely, not wanting to give Detective Dodge the satisfaction of breaking the silence first.

"Water?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Must've been hard to lose both of your parents like that," he murmured.

"Oh, shut up. Good cop, bad cop. You think I haven't seen the movies?"

We sat in silence until the door opened again. Warren returned holding a large paper sack.

She'd put on a pair of latex gloves. Now she set the bag down, unrolled the top, and pulled an object from its depths. It wasn't big. A delicate silver chain bearing a small oval locket. Child-size.

She held it out on her gloved palm. Showed me the front, engraved with a filigree of swirls. Then she opened it, revealing two hollow ovals inside. Finally, she flipped it over. A single name was engraved on the back: Annabelle M. Granger.

"What can you tell me about this locket?"

I stared at the locket for a long while. I felt as if I were sifting through a deep fog, searching carefully in the mist of my mind.

"It was a gift," I murmured at last. I unconsciously fingered my throat, as if feeling the locket still hanging there, silver oval cool against my skin. "He told me I couldn't keep it."

"Who told you?"

"My father. He was angry." I blinked, trying to recall more. "I don't… I don't know why he was so mad. I'm not sure I knew. I liked the locket. I remember thinking it was very pretty But when my father saw it, he made me take it off. Told me I had to throw it away."

"Did you?"

Slowly, I shook my head. I looked up at them, and suddenly, I was afraid. "I went outside to the garbage," I whispered. "But I couldn't bring myself to throw it in the trash. It was so pretty… I thought maybe if I just waited, he'd get over it. Let me wear it again. My best friend came out to see what I was doing."

Both detectives leaned forward; I could feel their sudden tension. And I knew that they now understood where this was going.

"Dori Petracelli. I handed the locket to Dori. Told her she could borrow it. I figured I would get it back later, maybe wear it when my father wasn't around. Except there was no later. In a matter of weeks, we packed our bags. I haven't seen Dori since."

'Annabelle," Detective Dodge asked quietly, "who gave you the locket?"

"I don't know." My fingers were on my temples, rubbing. 'A gift. On the front porch. Wrapped in the Peanuts comic strip. Just for me. But without a tag. I liked it. But my father… he was mad. I don't know… I don't remember. There had been other items, small, inconsequential. But nothing made my father as angry as the locket."

Another pause, then Detective Dodge again: "Does the name Richard Umbrio mean anything to you?"

"No."

"What about Mr. Bosu?"

"No."

"Catherine Gagnon?"

Warren flashed him a sudden, hostile glance. But the significance was lost on me. I didn't know that name either.

"Did you… Did you find this locket on a body? Is that why you thought it was me?"

"We can't comment on an active investigation," Sergeant Warren said crisply.

I ignored her, my gaze going to Detective Dodge. "Is it Dori? Is that who you found? Did something happen to her? Please…"

"We don't know," he said gently Warren frowned again, but then she shrugged.

"It will take weeks to identify the bodies," she volunteered abruptly "We don't know much of anything at this point."

"So it's possible."

"It's possible."

I tried to absorb this news. It left me feeling cold and shaky I squeezed my left hand into a fist and pressed it into my stomach. "Can you look her up?" I said. "Run her name. "You'll see if she has an address, a driver's license. The bodies are children, right, that's what the news says. So if she has a driver's license…"

"You can be sure we'll look into it," Sergeant Warren said.

I didn't like that answer. My gaze went to Detective Dodge again. I knew I was pleading, but I couldn't help myself.

"Why don't you give us your number," he said. "We'll be in touch."

"Don't call me, I'll call you," I murmured.

"Not at all. You're welcome to contact us at any time."

"And if you remember anything more about the locket…" Sergeant Warren prodded.

"I'll sell my story to the cable news."

She gave me a look, but I waved it away "They wouldn't believe me any more than you do, and I can't afford to come back from the dead."

I rose, grabbed my bag, then provided my home phone number when it became clear that some form of contact information was mandatory

At the last minute, standing in the door, I hesitated. "Can you tell me what happened to them? To the girls?"

"We're still waiting for that report." Sergeant Warren, sounding as official as always.

"But it's murder, right? Six bodies, all in one grave…"

"You ever been to the Boston State Mental Hospital?" Detective Dodge interjected evenly "What about your father?"

I shook my head. All I knew about the site were the development wars I'd been hearing on the local news. If I'd ever known the lunatic asylum as a child, it didn't mean anything to me now.

Sergeant Warren escorted me back downstairs. We walked in silence, the heels of our boots making sharp staccato beats that rang up the stairwell.

At the bottom, she held open the heavy metal door to the lobby, extending her business card with her other hand.

"We'll be in touch."

"Sure," I said without a trace of conviction.

She looked at me sharply "And Annabelle-"

I shook my head immediately "Tanya. I go by Tanya Nelson; it's safer."