“I was three, she was six, too young to understand, let alone get ‘pissed off.’”

“What happened to her?”

“She remained a ward of the state, bouncing around various foster homes.”

“You in touch with her?”

“Yes.”

“She got a name?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re not going to give it to me?” D.D.’s keen investigator’s senses started to vibrate.

The doctor hesitated. “By the time I was fourteen, I was asking a lot of questions about my birth father. Unbeknownst to me, my adoptive father hired a private investigator to research all three members of my birth family. I’m guessing the PI was a retired Boston cop, as most of the information he gathered on my father was photocopies of the police reports. Maybe an old buddy on the force gave him access. Researching my mother proved more difficult, as I mentioned, and her file is thin. My sister . . .”

Dr. Glen paused.

“She would’ve been seventeen by then, I guess. Still a ward of the state. But even by that point, her file was thicker than my father’s, her exploits even more legendary.”

D.D. leaned forward, senses definitely humming.

“The most telling report, which I never read until after my adoptive father’s death, comes from the social worker who came to my parents’ house that day. The one who took us into custody, then sought immediate medical treatment for my four-year-old sister. According to her, my sister’s back, arms and the inside of her legs were covered with dozens of thin lacerations. Some old, many new, but essentially her skin was striped continuously in long, even lines of dried blood.”

“He was cutting her,” D.D. filled in. “You believe Harry Day was cutting your sister.”

Adeline looked at her. “It’s not like she could’ve reached her own back.”

“Did he remove skin?”

“Not that the doctors reported. But then, he wouldn’t have to, right? Harry took trophies from his victims to remember them after they were gone. My sister wasn’t a kidnapped girl who eventually would have to be disposed of. She was his own daughter. The victim who was always available to him. No doubt the perfect ‘filler’ option in between other sport.”

D.D. studied Adeline. The doctor’s gaze remained direct, her expression controlled. But there was a tightness to her jaw that hadn’t been there before. The good doc was holding it together. But it was costing her.

D.D. asked the next logical question: “And you?”

“According to the hospital admittance papers, not a mark on me.”

“Harry abused her but not you.”

“Harry Day died one week prior to my first birthday. It might have proved interesting to see if the same still held true eight days later.”

“You think your age saved you. You were a baby. Whereas, the moment you turned one . . .”

Adeline shrugged. “We’ll never know.”