Page 105 of Girl in the Water

“You don’t have to run out of here like this,” he said. “I’m going to take some time off from work and go back to Brazil. I want to find something that’ll link Marcos Morais and Goat Man to Finch’s murder and put them behind bars.”

She stopped moving. Was that worry crossing her face? But then, after a long moment, she simply nodded and went back to folding shirts. “I’m almost packed. Crystal is expecting me.”

As he watched her roll up socks from the laundry basket, disjointed thoughts floated through his brain: the day he’d found her, Finch, Marcos Morais and his diamonds. Then some of those thoughts solidified and made Ian sit up straight.

“When Finch told you to leave for a few days, just before he was killed… Did you pack? Did you take anything with you?”

She turned away. She didn’t like talking about her life before DC. But after a few of seconds of silence, she finally said, over her shoulder, “I packed up a few dresses, my hairbrush, sandals. Probably more than I should have. I kind of worried that he didn’t mean it when he said I could come back. I thought maybe he was sending me away for good.”

His stomach clenched. He could picture her, scared, rejected, being sent back to a life of abuse she’d barely escaped. He’d thought a lot about Finch and how he’d come by her. Had Finch thought he’d simply hired a housemaid?

Maybe he had. Finch had always been too optimistic for his own good. He looked at the sunny side of life. Danger? What danger? What darkness?

“Could he have sewn some diamonds into the hem of your clothes?” Ian asked Daniela. “Do you still have those clothes?”

She put her coffee on the kitchen counter. “I’ve gained weight since. I threw things out when they got tight.”

He tried not to look at her body. She’d filled out, yes, but only what was needed. She’d been too thin when he’d found her. Years of not having enough to eat had left its mark on her back then. Now she glowed with health, her skin and hair shining, and… And he wasn’t going to think about how striking she looked.

“How about shoes?” He came out of the recliner. “Do you have the sandals? He could have put diamonds into the heels.”

“They fell apart.” She flashed an apologetic look. “They were old rubber sandals. I tossed them last year.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, pacing now. A bitter laugh bubbled up his throat. “Can you imagine? If Finch hid the diamonds in your clothes, then sent you off for a few days. And then he’s killed, and you never knew, and tossed it all in the garbage?”

She started pacing too and looked as frustrated as he felt. “Why didn’t Finch tell me?” Then she whirled around. Her face lit up. “Wait! I have the bag.”

She flew to the hallway closet, dropped to her knees, and began chucking things out over her shoulders.

He was right there. “What bag?”

“Finch’s bag that I took with me that night. I used it when you brought me to the US. The handle was broken, but I fixed it. I know I have it somewhere.”

He dropped to his knees next to her and edged her aside a little so he could dig in too.

The closet was a mess, the catch-all for all things they rarely used: old shoes, bags, a rain slicker from when he’d taken her to see Niagara Falls, umbrellas, flashlight, first aid kit, a toolbox, shoeshine kit.

Then she grabbed a chunk of dirty canvas way in the back and pulled out a bag, all bent out of shape, with mismatched handles, presenting it to him with the aplomb of a magician who’d just produced a rabbit from a hat.

And he stared at her with just as much amazement as if she had. “If Finch hid the diamonds in the bag…”

They sat on the floor, facing each other, the bag between them.

“Then we have them,” she said with undisguised triumph.

The bag stood open, empty. Ian reached in and felt around anyway. No inside pockets. No outside pockets either. The bag was pretty simple, about the size of carry-on luggage. Finch had probably used it exactly for that purpose.

“Did he specifically give you this bag?” Ian asked as he raised his gaze to Daniela.

She shook her head. “He kept cassava in it under the sink. That’s why I took it. I thought he wouldn’t miss it. It was broken anyway.”

Disappointment washed through Ian. If Finch hadn’t given it to her…

He lifted the bag, turned it all around, upside down, shook it. Nothing. Except… “It does feel heavy.”

“Heavy-duty canvas. And it’s big.”

But he was already tapping the bottom—structured and rectangular, with something stiff sewn in between two layers of fabric to give the bag shape. A thick piece of plastic maybe. He ran his fingers all around it. Averythick piece of plastic.Too thick.