Four armed men came for the terrified Cane Corso hiding behind me, but when his billionaire owner arrived, the dog planted himself on my foot and refused to move.

A video appeared on local news sites showing me walking beside her through the Wren mansion’s garden. The clip ended just as I put a hand on the gate. Beside it was a statement from Julian’s lawyer: the family was cooperating with police after a former charity partner became involved in Maisie’s disappearance.

The video was real. It was from Tuesday, when Maisie had walked me to the garden gate after our reading session. Julian had removed the date and everything that followed, including Mrs. Bell coming out to fetch her.

At the rescue, Trina held up her phone. “People are sharing it everywhere.”

Moreno was already working to obtain the original file. She asked me to come to the station and account for my movements on Tuesday and last night. I went with her. Elias came separately with his attorney.

At the station, two detectives questioned me for nearly two hours. I described the walk through the garden, the books Maisie had borrowed, and the photograph Trina had taken when Maisie returned inside. Trina sent it to them, complete with its original date.

“Why would Julian blame you?” one detective asked.

“Because Bishop came to me with the card. And because he thinks I had Celia’s notebook.”

“Did you?”

“No. You have it.”

Moreno came in before they finished. Her technicians had obtained the original security file from a backup Julian hadn’t controlled. It showed Maisie going back into the house on Tuesday, laughing with Mrs. Bell.

She showed it to the detectives, then let me leave.

In the hall, Elias stood beside a vending machine, his phone pressed to his ear. He ended the call when he saw me.

“Iris is safe,” he said.

“What did she tell Moreno?”

“That she changed shipping dates for Julian. She kept her own records.” His voice roughened. “And she saw him meet the repair-shop owner the morning after Celia died.”

Iris had no firsthand knowledge of how Celia died. She did have invoices, messages, and enough information to give the police new questions for Julian and the boat shop.

We went into a conference room where Moreno had spread out a plan of the waterfront. She marked the aquarium, the old cold-storage building, and the slips used by Wren Holdings.

“Maisie said she heard boats after trains,” Moreno told us. “We’ve checked four vessels that left overnight. One belongs to a company linked to Julian. Harbor patrol is searching for it.”

“Where?” Elias asked.

“Along the coast and inside the breakwater.”

I thought of the warmth in the paper cup, the ribbon on the latch, the engine starting as we left the aquarium. Julian had kept Maisie close because he needed the notebook. Now the police had it, and he would know soon enough.

My phone buzzed.

You chose the police. Tell Elias to look at Pier Eleven.

Moreno read the message and sent units there. Elias moved for the door; she caught his arm.

“Let the officers check it.”

“Julian knows I’m here. He could be telling the truth.”

“He could also be drawing us away from the boat.”

An hour later, the officers at Pier Eleven found a child’s coat hanging from a mooring post. It belonged to Maisie. There was no one there.

A second message arrived.

If you want her back, stop looking for things Celia couldn’t prove.

Elias read it over my shoulder.

“She proved enough for me,” he said.

The rain eased at last. From the station window, I could see a strip of gray sky over the roofs. I tried to imagine Maisie seeing the same sky from a boat and knowing which direction to look for home.

Bishop waited in Moreno’s office with a bowl of water. He had been quiet all morning, but he came to the door when I entered.

I sat on the floor beside him. “She called because she knew we’d understand,” I said.

Elias crouched on his other side.

“She talked about the whale,” I went on. “Then she told us the sounds changed. She’s trying to tell us where she is every chance she gets.”

Elias rubbed Bishop’s ears. “Her mother taught her to do that. If they were separated somewhere crowded, Maisie had to look for signs and tell a safe adult what she could see.”

Moreno appeared in the doorway. Harbor patrol had found the company boat tied up at a private fuel dock. Its owner claimed Julian borrowed it overnight. Officers were getting permission to search below deck.

We drove toward the dock with Moreno. She kept us well behind the patrol cars. As we crossed the bridge, her radio crackled.

“Vessel’s empty,” an officer reported. “We have a blanket and children’s shoes. Engine’s warm.”

Another voice interrupted. A harbor camera had caught a small workboat leaving the fuel dock thirty minutes earlier. It was traveling toward the restricted slips behind Julian’s old freight yard.

Moreno turned our car around.

Storm runoff had flooded the road nearest the freight yard. We stopped at a police barrier, where officers were preparing a launch. Elias showed Moreno a gate on the property plan.

“That service road reaches the slips from higher ground.”

“It’s chained,” she said.

“I have the key.”

He passed it to an officer. Bishop stood between us as the team moved out.

Ten minutes later, Moreno’s radio sounded again. They had found the workboat empty beside a warehouse. One door stood open. The warehouse backed onto a narrow concrete channel used to move vessels into a covered repair bay.

Its flood gates were old. The incoming tide had begun to push water against them.

Then an officer’s voice cut through the radio.

“We can hear a child. She’s inside the repair bay.”

Elias started forward.

Moreno caught up with him. “You stay with me.”