Chapter 2
Deputy Rosa Martinez arrived with two patrol officers and an ambulance crew.
Lily could describe the house but not the address.
There was a red barn with half its roof missing.
A mailbox shaped like a fish.
A water tower visible from the back field.
A road where “the trees touched over the cars.”
The county dispatcher used property maps and satellite images while Lily drank warmed apple juice beneath a blanket.
She identified the dead orchard from a photograph.
The property belonged to Mercer Agricultural Holdings.
The name made one of the officers look up.
Everyone in that part of Indiana knew Mercer.
Mercer apples.
Mercer refrigerated warehouses.
Mercer produce trucks traveling across six states.
The farmhouse sat on land no longer used commercially, nearly four miles beyond the closest occupied property.
The ambulance reached it thirty-two minutes later.
The front door stood unlocked.
Inside, the house was colder than the hospital parking lot.
No heat.
No running water.
The electricity functioned only in two rooms through a generator.
A basin filled with bloodstained towels sat near the kitchen sink.
Empty formula containers covered the table.
The smell led paramedics toward the back bedroom.
Anna Mercer lay on a mattress on the floor.
Her skin was gray.
Her nightgown was dark with dried blood.
One arm stretched toward two empty laundry baskets lined with blankets.
A paramedic touched her neck.
“We have a pulse.”
The words released the entire room into motion.
Anna’s breathing was shallow. Her temperature had fallen dangerously low. She showed signs of severe blood loss, dehydration, infection, and drug exposure.
Near the mattress sat a half-empty bottle of water and a syringe without a label.
A folding table beside the bed held medical supplies.
Clamps.
Gloves.
Gauze.
A portable fetal monitor.
And two typed certificates.
MALE INFANT A — STILLBORN.
MALE INFANT B — STILLBORN.
The forms listed a birth date two days before the babies had actually been found alive.
The certifying attendant was Celia Brandt, CPM.
A search of state licensing records would later show that Celia’s midwifery credential had been revoked four years earlier.
On the floor beside Anna was a family photograph.
Anna smiling beneath summer sunlight.
Lily sitting on a man’s shoulders.
The same man holding one hand against Anna’s pregnant stomach.
A black memorial ribbon crossed the corner.
CALEB MERCER
1987–2025
In the kitchen, Deputy Martinez found a note written in a careful adult hand.
Anna chose privacy for the birth and left after suffering an emotional episode. The infants did not survive. She requested no contact with the Mercer family.
No signature.
No phone.
No vehicle.
No coats except the one Lily wore.
The house had not been abandoned by a grieving mother.
It had been arranged to suggest disappearance after death.
A patrol officer opened the back door.
Wheelbarrow tracks cut through frost toward the road.
Small bloody footprints followed beside them.
Inside the barn, they found the remains of a fire.
Partially burned clothing.
Medication packaging.
A mobile phone with its battery removed.
And a hospital bag embroidered with Anna’s name.
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Someone had prepared to destroy evidence.
Someone had left before finishing.
