She was in her early forties, with short dark hair and the guarded expression of someone who had learned not to trust easy answers.
Hannah had sent her photographs of the letter and the recorder.
Rebecca arrived carrying a locked evidence case.
“I need to be clear,” she said.
“I’m not officially assigned to this investigation yet.”
“Will you help us?”
I asked.
She studied me for a moment.
“Yes.
But first, I need to know who else has seen this.”
“Only my daughter and me.”
“And the little girl who found the letter?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Good.
Keep it that way.”
She listened to the recordings through headphones.
Her expression hardened.
When she finished, she removed them carefully.
“Mrs.
Walker, the crash investigation needs to be reopened immediately.”
I leaned forward.
“My son.
Benjamin.
Could he still be alive?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“I can’t promise that.”
“But he survived the crash.”
