Part 2 — The Officer Was Looking for My Daughter
When the principal called me, I was halfway through making breakfast.
Her voice sounded unusually serious.
“Mr. Carter, could you come to the school as soon as possible?”
I immediately thought something had happened to my daughter.
“Is Emma okay?”
There was a pause.
“She’s fine. But there’s a police officer here asking for her.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“A police officer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure. He said it concerns something that happened yesterday.”
Yesterday.
My mind immediately went to the glasses.
Emma had spent nearly all her savings buying a new pair for Mr. Thompson, the school cleaner.
The poor man had been struggling to read the tiny print on cleaning bottles and labels for months.
Emma had noticed him squinting.
So she’d emptied her little savings jar.
Every coin.
Then she’d taken the money to an optical shop and bought him a pair of reading glasses.
When I’d asked her why she hadn’t saved the money for herself, she’d shrugged.
“He needs them more than I need another toy.”
I had been proud of her.
But now a police officer wanted to talk to her?
I drove to the school as quickly as I could.
When I walked into the principal’s office, I saw Emma sitting quietly in a chair.
Beside her stood a uniformed police officer.
Mr. Thompson was there too.
His eyes were red.
The moment he saw me, he stood.
“Mr. Carter, I swear I didn’t ask her to do anything.”
I looked at him.
“Do what?”
The officer stepped forward.
“Sir, I’m Detective Harris.”
He showed me his badge.
“I’m investigating a case involving your daughter’s school.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of case?”
He glanced at Emma.
Then back at me.
“Your daughter gave Mr. Thompson a pair of glasses yesterday, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know where she got the money?”
“Her savings.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
Emma looked down.
The detective crouched slightly so he was at her eye level.
“Emma, I need you to tell me exactly what you did yesterday.”
She looked at me.
I nodded.
She took a breath.
“I bought Mr. Thompson glasses.”
“Why?”
“Because he couldn’t see properly.”
“And after you gave him the glasses?”
“I went back to class.”
“Did you talk to him afterward?”
Emma shook her head.
“No.”
The detective stood.
Then he looked at me.
“Your daughter didn’t do anything wrong.”
I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.
“Then why are you here?”
He reached into his coat.
And pulled out a photograph.
He placed it on the desk.
It showed Mr. Thompson standing outside the school.
But that wasn’t what caught my attention.
Behind him was a woman.
Older.
Tired-looking.
And wearing the exact same glasses Emma had purchased.
I stared at the photograph.
“Who is she?”
Detective Harris looked at Mr. Thompson.
Then back at me.
“That woman is Mrs. Evelyn Parker.”
Mr. Thompson suddenly covered his face with both hands.
I looked at him.
“What does she have to do with this?”
The detective lowered his voice.
“She disappeared eleven years ago.”
Silence filled the room.
Emma looked confused.
“But that’s not possible.”
Everyone turned toward her.
She pointed at the photograph.
“I know her.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Emma looked at me.
“She came to the school last week.”
Detective Harris immediately knelt beside her.
“Emma, are you sure?”
She nodded.
“She asked me where Mr. Thompson worked.”
I looked at the detective.
He went completely still.
“What else did she say?”
Emma thought for a moment.
“She said she wanted to thank him.”
Mr. Thompson suddenly started crying.
Detective Harris stared at him.
“Mr. Thompson?”
The old cleaner didn’t answer.
Instead, he reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a small, folded piece of paper.
“I found this inside my locker this morning.”
He handed it to the detective.
The officer unfolded it.
His expression changed immediately.
I couldn’t see what was written.
“What does it say?” I asked.
He hesitated.
Then handed it to me.
There were only seven words.
“You finally gave her what she needed.”
I looked at Emma.
“What does that mean?”
Nobody answered.
Then Detective Harris asked my daughter one more question.
“Emma, when you bought those glasses yesterday, did anyone speak to you at the store?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“A woman.”
“What did she look like?”
Emma described her.
The detective’s face went pale.
He pulled another photograph from his folder.
It showed a woman standing beside a younger Mr. Thompson.
“This woman?”
Emma pointed immediately.
“Yes.”
Mr. Thompson stumbled backward.
“No.”
The detective turned toward him.
“Thomas, we need to talk.”
Mr. Thompson shook his head.
“I haven’t seen Evelyn in eleven years.”
Detective Harris looked at him coldly.
“Then explain why she was at the optical shop yesterday.”
Mr. Thompson said nothing.
Then Emma spoke.
“She told me something.”
Everyone looked at her.
“What did she tell you?”
Emma swallowed.
“She said the glasses weren’t really for Mr. Thompson.”
I felt a chill run down my spine.
“What were they for?”
Emma looked directly at the detective.
“She said she needed him to recognize someone.”
The detective’s expression changed.
“Recognize who?”
Emma pointed toward the photograph.
Then she whispered:
“Her son.”
Detective Harris stared at her.
“Evelyn Parker never had a son.”
Emma shook her head.
“Yes, she did.”
Then she reached into her backpack.
And pulled out a folded piece of paper she’d been carrying all day.
“I think this is his name.”
The detective unfolded it.
His face went completely white.
Because written on that paper was a name that had been connected to a missing-person case for eleven years.
And beneath the name was an address.
Our address.