She is. But she’s also seeing the most heinous crime-scene photos she’s ever seen in her life. And an unseen part of her is already exiting the Wild Stallion Bar and Grill.

They call themselves that because that’s her last name.

To be fans of this…

“A whole city silently agreed to move right on from that.” Pollen makes a small gesture at her phone in McGowan’s hands. “But there’s more. And it’s worse. Do you believe in magic, Carla?”

“I don’t know, I—”

“Your mother or father believe in magic? What are you…Irish and Cuban, right?”

“Yes.”

“A lot of magic between those two. Did you grow up with it?”

“No.”

It’s hard to believe it’s her own voice answering the question. That orange-and-yellow tiled floor…

“Well, I didn’t either. But in moments like these…”

“What are you saying, Barbara?”

Pollen takes a long pull of beer. Doesn’t wipe the suds from her lips when she answers.

“There’s a video next.” She nods toward the phone. “Watch it.”

McGowan swipes, bracing herself for the worst of it. But this isn’t footage from inside the home. This looks more like…

“Is this a costume shop?”

“Like I said earlier, no costume big enough to conceal a seven-foot kidnapper.”

At the right of the screen is a large blue rabbit. McGowan recognizes shelves of candy beside it in the grainy footage. It’s a security camera, she would recognize footage like this anywhere.

“What am I…”

But she spoke too soon. A little girl enters the frame. Looks up the length of the rabbit. Seems to ask it a question.

There’s a pause. And in that pause the entire bar seems to go still. As if, in step with the crazy stuff Pollen is saying, all of Samhattan holds their breath for this next part.

“Oh no,” McGowan says.

Because maybe it was this little girl’s head on that tiled floor.

The rabbit moves fast. A huge blue paw over the child’s face.

Drags her violently off-camera.

The video ends there.

“That’s Brea Delany,” Pollen says. “The last little girl Daphne stole. Send yourself all that if you need to. That was Daphne Vann who took her.”

“She went to jail then?” McGowan asks. But somehow she knows this isn’t the case.

“Someone got to her before we did,” Pollen says.

“Chief…”

“You got any trauma in your life, Carla?”

The way she asks it, it’s like she isn’t aware she’s already done that. McGowan tries to process all she’s heard. The idea of a cover-up without any actual covering up. An entire city deciding to send that trauma back upstairs into a room they forget exists.

McGowan sends herself the pics. The video.

“You have my blessing,” Pollen says. “That’s why I asked you here. To tell you as much as I know before I stop…thinking about her again. Because I will do that. And so will every other Samhattanite, the moment they can. You ever hear the phrase ‘it’s in the water’? Yeah, well, this is our water. This is our communal trauma, Carla. And maybe, just maybe, because you’re not from here, because you never quietly ignored this terrible bit of history, because you’re not scared of Daphne…maybe you can beat her.”