I looked back at the phone, scrolling through her contacts. Dani's number was not there, which I once again found odd. I didn't recognize any of the other numbers. She hadn't put my dad's number on her contact list or Vicky, who had been my mother's friend before she'd become my stepmother.

"Anything jump out at you?" Inspector Greenman asked.

I shook my head. "No." I clicked on text messages, scrolling through those, but there were very few and most seemed to be about work or book club. "She didn't text a lot."

"Nor did she have an online presence," he said. "She lived a very quiet life." He glanced down at his notebook. "Your mother's date of birth would make her forty-nine years old." "Her ID said her birthday is May second."

I shook my head. "Her birthday is February ninth. I don't understand how my mother could live an entire life as Kim Landry and then become someone else. How could she get IDs in a different name? How could she get a Social Security number to match that name? She works, so she must pay taxes. Does she have a bank account?"

"She does. She has a checking account with about twelve thousand dollars in it and a savings account with another ten thousand. She owns the building where she lives, which consists of her two-story flat and a studio apartment on the first floor. We spoke to a man who is renting that unit. He wasn't home at the time of the shooting and said he only moved in a month ago. He didn't know much more about your mother than what I've told you." He paused. "It's not impossible to create a fake identity, but it's usually expensive. Aside from your mother's home, we haven't discovered any other assets. But I didn't realize until this conversation that your mother's shooting may be more complicated than I originally thought."

"Because she used to be someone else?"

"Yes. Most people don't disappear unless they have a good reason, including being afraid for their life. Maybe her past caught up to her." He picked up a pen. "You said her name was Kim Landry. What else can you tell me about the woman you knew?"

"She was born in Los Angeles."

"What was her maiden name?"

I thought for a moment. "I think it was Sullivan. I can find out from my dad."

"Good. What about your father? What's his name?"

"Ross Landry."

"And where is he now?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't spoken to him yet. I haven't told anyone in my family that my mom is alive. I didn't think it was real. I thought the nurse had made a mistake, that the woman in the hospital was some friend of my mom's, someone who might have somehow had a photo of my mother and my sister and me."