I read it twice, then asked Daniel to put it away. I could not bear to see my father’s handwriting become another exhibit.
“Will the letter help?” I asked after a while.
“It establishes his concerns and may lead us to documents. We have to be careful about what can be admitted as evidence.”
I understood. Dad’s love was not a substitute for proof. Yet the letter gave me something I had lacked since the verdict: the knowledge that he had seen the danger beginning to form.
That evening I imagined telling him everything. I would confess how embarrassed I felt for defending Nolan, how angry I was at myself, how frightened I remained despite the new leads. Dad would have listened, poured tea, and asked what we knew for certain.
So I took a blank sheet of paper and wrote three columns: Facts. Questions. Next Steps.
Under Facts I wrote: The transfer was blocked. The computer was accessed remotely. Mara’s belongings were found.
