As Tessa and Rae search through Jonah's files, they uncover troubling clues in Lena Wyatt's disappearance. But an unsigned letter raises an even more disturbing question—what else was buried fifteen years ago?
Episode 11 | The Wyatt File
Rae settled into their father's desk chair and tapped a few keys on his computer.
"Please tell me Dad has something resembling a filing system," Tessa said.
Rae glanced over her shoulder. "He does."
"Good."
"Unfortunately, it's one only he understands."
Tessa sighed and looked around the office. The two desks, mismatched chairs, and crowded filing cabinets were exactly what she'd expected of Jonah James. Her father had never cared much about appearances. As long as he had a telephone, a place to sit, and enough coffee to get him through the day, he considered himself equipped for business.
Rae clicked through several folders.
"Anything?" Tessa asked.
"Give me a minute."
Tessa walked toward the filing cabinet. "While you're doing that, I'll see what he's got in here."
"Good luck. Dad doesn't believe in alphabetical order."
"Of course he doesn't."
The bottom drawer resisted when Tessa pulled on it. She gave it another tug, and it opened with a metallic groan.
Inside were folders stuffed with papers, some marked with names, others with dates, and a few with nothing written on them at all.
"How does he find anything in this mess?"
"He usually remembers where he put it."
"That's not a filing system."
"Tell him that."
"I've tried organizing these files," Rae said. "But Dad keeps moving things around."
"Then why bother?"
"That's what I finally decided."
Tessa began sorting through the folders. Most concerned ordinary matters: insurance disputes, missing property, background checks. She set several aside before noticing a worn manila folder tucked beneath a stack of older files.
Two letters were written across the tab.
LW.
She stopped. "Rae."
Her sister looked up.
"I think I found something."
Rae pushed back from the desk as Tessa opened the folder.
The first page was a photocopy of Lena Wyatt's missing-person report, dated fifteen years earlier. Tessa recognized the familiar format of a police report, but what caught her attention were the notes covering the margins.
Their father's handwriting.
Some notes appeared old. Others had been written in darker ink, the words pressed hard into the paper.
"He went back through the original report," Tessa said.
Rae moved beside her. "After Tasha came to see him?"
"Looks that way."
Paper-clipped to the report was a school portrait of Lena Wyatt.
Tessa studied the girl's face. Straight bangs framed her forehead, and a shy smile barely lifted the corners of her mouth.
"She was just a kid," Rae murmured.
"Sixteen."
Tessa turned the photograph over.
One word was written on the back.
Regret.
Rae frowned. "What do you suppose that means?"
"I don't know."
"Maybe Dad regrets not finding her."
“Makes sense.”
Tessa turned the photograph over again. She'd seen hundreds of photographs in case files over the years. Victims. Witnesses. People whose lives had been reduced to statements, dates, and evidence.
But this photograph bothered her.
Lena looked like any other teenage girl posing for a school picture. There was nothing about her expression to suggest that one day she'd disappear and leave an entire town wondering what happened.
Tessa placed the photograph carefully on the desk. "Let's see what else is here."
Inside a plastic sleeve were several more photographs.
One showed a red scarf laid flat against a pale surface. Another appeared to be a grainy image captured by a school security camera.
Rae leaned closer. "Is that Lena?"
Tessa studied the image.
A girl was walking toward an exit, her face partially turned away from the camera. A red scarf hung around her neck.
"Looks like her."
"And who's that?"
Tessa followed Rae's finger.
Someone was walking beside the girl.
The image was too blurry to identify the person, but their father had circled the figure in red ink.
"You think that's the boyfriend Tasha mentioned?" Rae asked.
"Could be. There's no way to tell from this photograph."
"Wonder if the police ever identified that person."
"If they did, Dad didn't write it here,” Tessa said.
Rae reached for the photograph. "Maybe I can work with this."
"Don't get your hopes up. You can't create detail that isn't there."
"I know that, counselor." Rae gave her a sideways look. "But sometimes you can make what's already there easier to see."
Tessa almost smiled.
"When did you become the computer expert?"
"While you were busy conquering Manhattan."
"Very funny."
Rae returned to the computer, taking the photograph with her.
Tessa continued through the folder.
Behind the pictures was a printed list headed Persons Interviewed — Wyatt Case.
Monroe Wyatt's name appeared near the top.
That didn't surprise her. Tasha had already described the strained relationship between Lena and her father.
Tessa scanned the remaining names.
A few school employees. A neighbor. Two relatives.
She turned the page. "That's odd."
"What?"
"I don't see any classmates."
Rae glanced up. "Maybe they were interviewed separately."
"Maybe."
But the longer Tessa studied the list, the less she liked it.
Lena had been sixteen when she disappeared. She'd attended school, walked hallways, sat in classrooms. Even if she'd been withdrawn, someone should have remembered something about her final days.
Tessa noticed an asterisk beside one name.
Trudy Reynolds — School Secretary.
Their father had underlined the name twice.
Beside it, he'd written:
Said she never saw Lena that day. Lied.
Tessa read the note again.
"Rae, did Dad ever mention a woman named Trudy Reynolds?"
Rae shook her head. "Not that I remember. Why?"
"She worked at Lena's school."
"So?"
"Dad believed she lied about seeing Lena on the day she disappeared."
Rae left the computer and came around the desk. "How would he know that?"
"That's the question."
Tessa checked the pages behind the witness list, looking for an explanation. There were no additional statements from Trudy Reynolds. No interview transcript. Nothing indicating how Jonah had reached his conclusion.
Only the accusation written in his own hand.
"Maybe Tasha told him something," Rae suggested.
"She didn't mention Trudy to us."
"Doesn't mean she didn't tell Dad."
"No. It doesn't."
Tessa set the witness list beside Lena's photograph.
She wasn't ready to assume a school secretary had deliberately misled the police. Jonah could have misunderstood something, or uncovered information that wasn't included in the file.
But he'd been concerned enough to underline the woman's name twice.
That meant something.
Rae returned to the computer. "I found a folder with Lena's name on it."
Tessa crossed the room.
"What's in it?"
"Scanned reports. Some photographs. Looks like Dad was putting together a timeline."
"Anything new?"
"Not much. Wait—there's a note here."
Rae opened a document.
Several dates appeared on the screen, followed by short observations in Jonah's familiar shorthand.
Tessa leaned closer. "Can you print that?"
"Sure."
The printer behind them whirred to life.
As Rae reached for the page, Tessa noticed a folded sheet of paper lodged between two documents in the manila folder.
She pulled it free.
It was an unsigned letter. There was no date, no address, and no indication of who had sent it.
Only two sentences.
You were right not to stop.
They buried more than a girl. He still walks free.
Tessa read the words twice.
Then she handed the letter to Rae.
Her sister's expression changed as she read it.
"Who sent this?"
"There's no name."
"Do you think Dad got it recently?"
"I can't tell."
Rae looked down at the letter again. "'He still walks free.' You think they're talking about the person who hurt Lena?"
Tessa shook her head.
"I don't know. But I don't like the sound of 'they buried more than a girl.'"
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