The Silent Girl

students and found Mark Mallory’s photo in the sophomore high school class. He would have been fifteen then, and his interests were listed as orchestra, lacrosse, chess, fencing, drama. It was music that had brought them together, music that had changed the course of their lives and their families. The Dions and the Mallorys had met because of their children’s performances at school. They became friends. Then Dina left Patrick for Arthur, and nothing would ever be the same for them again.
    “Here you are,” said Patrick, carrying in a tray with the coffeepot. He poured her a cup and set the sugar and cream on the table. “You must be hungry, too. I can make you a sandwich.”
    “No, this is perfect,” she said, sipping hot coffee. “I had a late lunch, and I’ll eat supper when I get home.”
    “You must have an understanding family.”
    She smiled. “I have a husband who knew what he was gettingwhen he married me. Which reminds me.” She pulled out her cell phone and tapped out a quick text message to Gabriel: HOME LATE. START DINNER WITHOUT ME .
    “Are you finding what you need here?” Patrick asked, nodding at the yearbooks.
    She set down her phone. “I don’t know yet.”
    “If you tell me what you’re looking for, I might be able to help.”
    “I’m looking for connections,” she said.
    “Between what?”
    “Between your daughter. And these girls.” Jane opened the file she’d brought with her and pointed to the list of four names.
    Patrick frowned. “I know about Laura Fang, of course. After Charlotte went missing, the police explored whether there was any connection. But these other girls, I’m afraid I’m not familiar with their names.”
    “They didn’t go to Bolton, but like your daughter, they disappeared without a trace. From different towns, in different years. I’m wondering if Charlotte knew any of them. Maybe through music or sports.”
    Patrick thought about this for a moment. “Detective Buckholz told me that children vanish all the time. Why are you looking at these girls in particular?”
    Because a dead man named Ingersoll pointed the way, thought Jane. What she said was: “These names have come up in the course of the investigation. There could turn out to be no connection at all. But if a link with Charlotte does exist, I might be able to find it right here.”
    “In her yearbooks?”
    She flipped through the student activity pages. “Look,” she said. “I noticed this the last time. The Bolton Academy’s very good about chronicling everything their students do, from school concerts to tennis meets. Maybe because it’s such a small student body.” She pointed to a page with photos of smiling students standing beside their science projects. The caption read: NEW ENGLAND SCIENCE FAIR, BURLINGTON,VERMONT, MAY 17 . “With this documentation,” she said, “I’m hoping to reconstruct Charlotte’s school years. Where she was, what activities she participated in.” Jane looked at Patrick. “She played the viola. That’s how you got to know the Mallorys. At the kids’ musical performances.”
    “How does that help you?”
    Jane turned to the section for the music department. “Here. This was the year she first played in the orchestra.” She pointed to a group photo of the musicians, which included Charlotte and Mark. Below it was the caption: THE ORCHESTRA’S JANUARY CONCERT BRINGS A STANDING OVATION!
    Just the sight of the photo made Patrick wince with what seemed like physical pain. He said softly, “It’s hard, you know. Looking at these photos. Remembering how …”
    “You don’t need to do this, Mr. Dion.” Jane touched his hand. “I’ll go through these books on my own. If I have any questions, I’ll ask.”
    He nodded, suddenly looking far older than his sixty-seven years. “I’ll leave you alone, then,” he said. Quietly he retreated from the dining room, sliding the pocket doors shut behind him.
    Jane poured another cup of coffee. Opened another yearbook.
    It was for Charlotte’s eighth-grade year, when she would have been thirteen and Mark sixteen. His growth spurt was already under way, his photo now showing a square jaw and broad shoulders. Charlotte still had a child’s face, pale and delicate. Jane flipped through the school activities section, searching for photos of either one. She found both of them in a group portrait, taken at the statewide “Battle of the Orchestras,” March 20, in Lowell, Massachusetts.
    Deborah