Chapter 28 - THE MAN AT THE BUS TERMINAL REMEMBERED MY NAME.
The archived statement arrived three days later.
The initials were D.M.
But the handwriting did not match Diane’s known samples.
That proved nothing by itself.
Initials could belong to anybody.
The statement was unsigned.
Still, the content mattered.
It described false payroll identities.
Unexplained insurance coverage.
Altered truck records.
It also contained a sentence Rachel read repeatedly:
If E.M. cannot appear, materials should be treated independently of his disappearance.
Whoever wrote that understood something important.
The evidence had to stand without Ethan.
That was exactly how Rachel had learned to think.
Facts first.
People second.
Mystery last.
Then Albuquerque finally produced a living witness.
His name was Samuel Ortiz.
He had worked security at the old Greyhound terminal.
Now seventy-four.
Living outside Santa Fe.
He agreed to speak by video.
Rachel showed him an old photograph of Ethan.
Samuel stared.
“Maybe.”
Not enough.
Then she showed Colleen.
He shook his head.
Then Diane.
Nothing.
Beth.
Samuel leaned closer.
“I know her.”
Rachel’s pulse jumped.
“You saw Beth Lawson?”
“I think so.”
“When?”
“Long time.”
“Was she with Ethan?”
Samuel rubbed his forehead.
“There was a man waiting.”
“What man?”
“Your Mercer guy?”
“Maybe.”
Samuel became irritated.
“You keep wanting me to promise things I can’t.”
Rachel stopped.
“You’re right.”
Sarah smiled faintly.
Rachel tried again.
“What do you actually remember?”
“A woman came in first.”
“Beth?”
“Looked like her.”
“Then?”
“She bought two tickets.”
“To where?”
Samuel thought.
“Phoenix.”
Rachel’s stomach tightened.
“Two tickets?”
“Yes.”
“For herself?”
“No idea.”
“Did Ethan arrive?”
“A man did.”
“Did he look like the photograph?”
“Similar.”
“What happened?”
“He didn’t get on the bus.”
Rachel froze.
“What?”
“He argued with the woman.”
“About?”
“Couldn’t hear.”
“Then?”
“A second man came in.”
Rachel leaned closer.
“What second man?”
“Older.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“No.”
“What did they do?”
“Talked.”
“Then?”
“The first man left through the side.”
“With who?”
“The older guy.”
“What about the woman?”
“Stayed.”
Rachel sat back.
If Samuel’s memory was accurate, Ethan may never have gone to Phoenix.
The bus-ticket clue could be another misdirection created by plans changing.
“Why do you remember this?”
Samuel smiled.
“Because the woman got mad at me.”
“Why?”
“She wanted a refund.”
Rachel almost laughed.
Ordinary irritation preserving history.
“What name was on the ticket?”
Samuel shook his head.
“Don’t remember.”
“Did you keep records?”
“Company did.”
The terminal had been demolished years earlier.
Greyhound’s historical passenger records were unlikely to survive.
Another dead end.
Then Samuel said:
“I remember your name.”
Rachel stopped.
“My name?”
“Rachel.”
Her skin prickled.
“How?”
“The man said it.”
“What man?”
“The one who looked like your photograph.”
Rachel felt her throat tighten.
“What did he say?”
Samuel thought.
“He was angry.”
“To the woman?”
“Yes.”
“What words?”
“I remember because my daughter’s name is Rachel.”
Rachel waited.
Samuel looked directly into the camera.
“He said, ‘If Rachel ever finds this, tell her I tried to come back.’”
The room went completely still.
Rachel felt tears rise.
Sarah spoke first.
“Mr. Ortiz, how confident are you in that sentence?”
“Very.”
“Exact words?”
“Close.”
Important distinction.
Close.
Not necessarily verbatim.
Rachel wiped her face.
“Did the woman answer?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Samuel frowned.
“Something like, ‘Then stop running.’”
“Was the woman Beth?”
“I think.”
Rachel understood.
Not proof.
But Beth could now be asked.
Beth’s attorney arranged another interview.
She did not deny going to Albuquerque.
She did not deny buying tickets.
She did not deny Ethan said Rachel’s name.
“What happened?” Rachel asked.
Beth looked exhausted.
“Ethan was supposed to leave for Phoenix.”
“With you?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Why buy two tickets?”
“One was a decoy.”
Rachel frowned.
“For who?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer was becoming a family tradition.
“Who was the older man?”
Beth looked down.
“I never knew his real name.”
“What did Ethan call him?”
A long pause.
“Harold.”
Rachel stopped.
Harold Vance.
The ghost employee.
The payroll identity nobody had proved existed.
“You met Harold Vance?”
“I met a man Ethan called Harold.”
“Was he an employee?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he leave with Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Ethan said west.”
“Did you ever see either man again?”
Beth’s face changed.
“Harold.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“When?”
“Years later.”
“Where?”
“Las Vegas.”
“Nevada?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“About nine years ago.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“No.”
“How do you know it was him?”
“I recognized him.”
“Could you be mistaken?”
“Yes.”
Rachel appreciated the honesty.
“Did you report it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because by then Ethan had been gone five years and everyone wanted the story dead.”
Rachel inhaled slowly.
“Was Dad with him?”
“No.”
Then Beth said:
“But Harold was wearing Ethan’s watch.”
Rachel looked at Sarah.
Impossible.
Diane had Ethan’s watch.
The cracked Timex sat in her wooden box.
Unless one memory was wrong.
May you like
Or one watch wasn’t the same.
Rachel suddenly understood that the physical object she had trusted most might be the least reliable thing in the entire story.
