I thought of the newscast from the night before. “Joseph Wither?” I asked, inviting further explanation. Thinking that maybe the news reporter did get it right.

“A ghost,” Jim said, throwing his arms out in frustration. I wanted to grab the cup of coffee before he spilled it all over his wife, or me for that matter. “A phantom. He’s not real. Just some stupid character the kids talk about. She may as well have said it was the Easter Bunny or a leprechaun for what it’s worth. At this rate the police aren’t going to catch anyone.”

“What does Cora say?” I questioned. “Has she talked about the attack at all?”

“No, she hasn’t said anything beyond crying out in her sleep.” Mara shook her head. “The police wanted to question her yesterday but she was so out of it after the surgery they decided to wait until today. Someone is supposed to come later this morning to talk to her.”

Cora’s door opened and Kendall poked her head out. “What’s going on?” she asked in a whisper. “You’re being really loud.” She was a striking young woman. Tall and lithe with the stature of a ballerina.

“Did we wake Cora?” Mara fretted. “It’s nothing.”

“It is something, goddammit.” Jim brushed roughly past Mara, sending a wave of coffee across the front of her T-shirt.

“Ouch!” Mara jumped backward and pulled her wet shirt away from her skin. “Jim,” she hissed, “let her rest. Don’t bother her.” But Jim had already swept past Kendall and into Cora’s room with the rest of us trailing after him.

“Cora,” he said, trying to keep his voice low and composed but instead it came out as brusque and exasperated, causing Cora to startle awake. “Cora, the police need to know who hurt you. Can you tell us what you saw?”

“Mom?” Cora called out uncertainly.

“Stop it, Jim, you’re scaring her! She’s not ready to talk. Leave her alone!”

“Mr. Landry,” I said, keeping my voice even but authoritative. “The more upset Cora is, the more difficult she may find it to remember the important details of the event.”

“Event?” Jim swung around toward me, causing me to take a step backward. “Event? This wasn’t an event. Someone targeted our twelve-year-old daughter, beat her and stabbed her with a knife. That is not an event, it’s attempted murder!” His breath came out in ragged puffs.

“I understand,” I said, trying to lead him from Cora’s bedside. “It’s very upsetting.”

He didn’t move but continued to speak to Cora. “This is very important, Cora.” He leaned down so that his lips were near her face. “Violet told the police that Joseph Wither hurt you. Why would she say that? Was someone down at the tracks pretending to be him? Can you remember what he looked like?”