Chapter 7 - THE TOWER ABOVE THE CITY
The Sterling Museum's clock tower rose above Fifth Avenue.
It had been closed to visitors since 1978.
The staircase was narrow.
The walls smelled of dust and old wood.
And at the top stood a massive clock mechanism that had once regulated the museum's public chimes.
Clara knew the tower from restoration plans.
Her mother had worked there.
So had Isabelle.
Arthur climbed slowly.
Marcus followed.
Clara led the way.
At the top, they found a locked wooden door.
The brass key fit.
Clara turned it.
The door opened.
Inside was a small room.
A desk.
A chair.
A narrow bed.
And a window overlooking Manhattan.
On the bed lay Leo's blue sweater.
Arthur's knees nearly buckled.
Marcus checked the room.
No one.
But the dust showed recent footprints.
Clara approached the desk.
There was a notebook.
Inside were drawings.
A plane.
A clock.
A little boy.
And a man wearing a dark coat.
Leo's drawings.
Arthur sat down.
He touched the pages.
Then whispered:
“Why would he draw this?”
Clara looked closely.
The plane had two doors.
One open.
One closed.
Beside it was a clock showing ten.
She frowned.
“Arthur, what time did Daniel's plane depart?”
He thought.
“Ten in the morning. Swiss time.”
Clara looked at the drawing.
“Leo keeps drawing ten.”
Arthur stared.
“The clock struck ten when he spoke.”
She nodded.
“Maybe the time matters.”
Then Marcus found something beneath the bed.
A small recorder.
He pressed play.
A child's voice filled the room.
Leo.
“Mommy said don't be scared.”
A pause.
Then another voice.
Richard.
“Tell me where the letter is.”
Leo whimpered.
“I don't know.”
Richard's voice hardened.
“Don't lie.”
Clara covered her mouth.
Arthur went pale.
Then Leo whispered:
“The lady with the blue bird knows.”
The recording ended.
Arthur stared at Clara.
She felt cold.
Richard wasn't only looking for Leo.
He was looking for her.
That evening, Clara returned to her apartment.
She found the door open.
Drawers overturned.
Books scattered.
Her mother's old photographs missing.
On the kitchen table lay a single note.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LET THE GALLERY GO.
Clara stared at it.
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
A man's voice spoke.
“Miss Wright?”
“Yes?”
“Your mother left you something.”
Clara froze.
“Who is this?”
The man laughed softly.
“Someone who knew Eleanor very well.”
Then he said:
“If you want the boy alive, bring the original gallery ledger to the museum before midnight.”
The call ended.
Clara looked toward the empty shelf where her mother's ledger had once stood.
May you like
And realized the most important evidence had been stolen twenty-four days earlier.
During the buyout.
