When I went back to check on Cora the room to her door was shut and a sign was affixed to the door frame—I’m resting, please do not disturb. I decided to take a chance and lightly tapped on the door. When it opened I came face-to-face with Jim Landry. “Yes?” he asked brusquely.

“How’s she doing?” I whispered.

“She’s sleeping,” he answered shortly. I was about ready to apologize for disturbing them when Mara stepped out from behind her husband and joined us in the hallway.

“She’s got an infection.” Mara’s face was pale, strained. “In her eye.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “What is the doctor saying?”

“More antibiotics and now we just wait and see.”

This is not good. Mara doesn’t say it, but I know that there’s a chance that Cora could lose her eye.

“If you can excuse us,” Jim said. He looked helpless, defeated. But there’s something else on his face. Guilt, perhaps. He looked past my shoulder and brushed past me, moving down the hallway. I turned and saw him striding toward a police officer.

“Oh, God,” Mara said, running her fingers through her hair. “I can’t deal with this right now. They keep wanting to ask Cora questions and she can’t answer them. She doesn’t remember anything.”

I thought about what Cora told me earlier about how Joseph Wither didn’t stay at the train yard with her. If Cora remembered this, then maybe she remembered more details, but I couldn’t just come out and tell Mara what her daughter revealed to me during our discussions. The guidelines about patient confidentiality are very clear. “The police often need to question victims several times. It’s surprising what witnesses can remember over time,” I explained.

“I know,” Mara said in resignation. “I just wish this would all go away, that none of this ever happened.” Jim Landry and the police officer approached us. Both look dazed, somber. “What is it?” Mara asked when she saw their faces. Neither spoke. “Tell me.”

“We’ve brought in another witness. Someone else who was at the train yard that night. I wanted to tell you in person,” the officer said.

Jim let out a frustrated puff of air. “Is it Violet?”

“No, a young man. Gabe Shannon. He was on surveillance footage from the train yard,” the officer explained.

“Gabe Shannon?” Mara repeated. “We’ve known the Shannons for years. I work with his mother. Gabe and Cora have gone to school together since preschool. She likes Gabe.”

“You have video? I want to see it,” Jim demanded.

“We can’t share that with you just yet,” the officer explained. “We’re still investigating.”

“The attack’s on that video, isn’t it? What about that Crow girl? She was in on it, too, right?” Jim asks.