Carol's Silence
Chapter 05 - Carol's Silence
Detective Wren Castillo arrived the following morning, requested personally by Walter Cole through connections built over decades of local business relationships, her presence discreet enough not to disrupt the wedding preparations already underway across the lodge's main grounds.
"I want to understand the full history here," Castillo told Emma, sitting with her in a quiet corner of the lodge's library, away from the growing bustle of florists and caterers setting up for the afternoon ceremony. "Everything you remember about Frank Bishop, including anything that might help us understand his current whereabouts or intentions."
Emma walked her through the same account she'd given Ryan the night before, years of documented and undocumented abuse, the single failed disclosure to a school nurse, her eventual escape at sixteen, and the two prior instances of contact since then, the workplace confrontation four years ago and now this letter.
"Do you know if he has a criminal record," Castillo asked.
"I don't know for certain," Emma said. "I heard, years ago, secondhand, that he'd had some kind of legal trouble unrelated to me, something about his construction business and unpaid contractor fees. I never followed up on the details."
Castillo made careful notes. "I'll run a full background check. I want to understand exactly what we're dealing with before we decide how aggressively to pursue a restraining order or formal charges."
"Can you even file charges," Emma asked, "for something that happened when I was a child, this many years later."
"Depends on the state and the statute of limitations for the specific offenses," Castillo said. "I'll need to research your home state's laws carefully. What I can tell you immediately is that this letter, and the prior workplace confrontation, absolutely qualify as ongoing harassment and stalking under current law, regardless of what happened years ago. That gives us a clear, actionable path forward right now."
Emma felt a small, cautious relief at that, the specific comfort of understanding legal machinery was finally, actively working on her behalf instead of the silence she'd navigated entirely alone for over a decade.
"There's something else you should know," Emma said slowly. "About my mother."
Castillo looked up from her notes. "Go on."
"She knew what was happening, the whole time I lived in that house," Emma said. "I don't know if that makes her legally responsible for anything. I know it's been almost nine years since I've spoken to her, and I don't know if she's had any contact with Frank recently, or if she might know where he is now."
"I'd like to speak with her," Castillo said carefully, "if you're willing to provide contact information. Not to accuse her of anything without evidence, but because she may have information relevant to locating Frank quickly, which matters considerably given the timeline we're working with."
Emma sat with that request for a long moment, the specific, complicated grief of nine years of silence suddenly facing the possibility of being broken, not by her own choice, but by necessity.
"Her name is Carol Bishop," Emma said finally. "Last I knew, she still lived in the same house. I can give you the address."
Castillo wrote it down carefully. "I'll reach out today. I want to move quickly, given that we know he's already located you here in some capacity, even if he hasn't shown himself directly yet."
Emma nodded, feeling the specific vertigo of a past she'd spent nine years carefully sealed away suddenly, rapidly reopening on every front at once, her mother, her stepfather, and now, finally, people willing to actually confront both of them directly on her behalf.
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"Thank you," she told Castillo quietly. "For taking this seriously. Not everyone has, over the years."
"I take every case like this seriously," Castillo said. "I especially take seriously a man who waited until his victim's wedding weekend to resurface. That's not coincidence. That's calculated, and calculated men are exactly the kind I worry about most."
