He tossed his pen on the table, expression frustrated. “I’m suggesting nothing, Ms. Ames. I’m offering you possibilities.”
“Sorry, Lieutenant, but in my opinion, they don’t hold water.”
“Really.” He cocked an eyebrow. “How about this one? Perhaps she doesn’t wish to contact you. By your own account, you two argued the last time you spoke.”
Heat flew to Liz’s cheeks. Guilty heat. “Yes, we argued,” she retorted, tone defensive. “But not so bitterly that-”
“If she was murdered, where’s the blood? The signs of a struggle? The body?” He leaned forward, gaze locked with hers. “We found nothing to indicate your sister met with a violent end. That should be a relief for you to hear, Ms. Ames. I’m a little surprised it isn’t.”
She ignored the comment, though it hit its mark. Why wasn’t she eager to believe her sister alive? What was wrong with her? “I want you to reopen the case.”
“I’m sorry, but there’s no evidence to justify my doing so.” He stood, signaling an end to their conversation.
Reluctantly, Liz followed him to his feet. “I’d like a copy of the police report.”
“Sorry, can’t help you.” He glanced at his watch. “If there’s nothing else, I have another appointment.”
She had blown it, she knew. She had marched in here, all demands and accusations. Rachel had always admonished her for being a hothead. “Liz, sweetie, try a little honey next time.”
Liz swallowed her anger and held a hand out. “Please, Lieutenant Lopez. By your own account, the investigation is closed. Perhaps I’ll see something in the file you overlooked, something-”
“You won’t.” He met her gaze evenly. “Make no mistake, Ms. Ames, I’m extremely thorough. This is my town, my little slice of heaven on earth, and I take every infraction of the law seriously. I don’t look the other way and I don’t take the easy way. If I had found one shred of evidence indicating your sister was murdered, I would have aggressively pursued the investigation.”
“And if I find evidence, Lieutenant? Will you reopen and aggressively pursue the investigation?”
“Yes, dammit. Of course I will.”
“Consider yourself on notice, then. Because I intend to discover what happened to my sister. In fact, I’ve put my life on hold to do it. And I don’t care how long it takes.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the business cards she’d had printed at the Speedy-print over the weekend.
He glanced at it, then back at her, one corner of his mouth lifting. “I admire your determination. I think it’s misplaced, but hey, I’ve only been a lawman for eleven years. May I ask what your first step is going to be?”
She shot him what she hoped was a winning smile. “Your report, of course.”
He stared at her a moment, then tipped back his head and laughed. “All right, you win.” He held up a hand, stopping her thanks. “But you can’t take it from the building or make a copy. And before you try hitting me with the Freedom of Information Act, that act applies most specifically to cases that have already been tried. Since you’ve just told me that I’ll be reopening this case, I guess I better make certain the information isn’t contaminated. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“I’ll get you set up in one of the interrogation rooms.”
She smiled again, relieved. “Thanks, Lieutenant Lopez. I-”
He cut her off. “A word of warning, Ms. Ames. Key Westers are fiercely loyal to their own. Fiercely…protective. I suggest you tread carefully. Try not to step on too many toes. You won’t like what happens.”
CHAPTER 8
Monday, November 5
1:15 p.m.
Three hours later, Liz exited the police department, thoughts swirling with what she had read in the police report Valentine Lopez had given her. It seemed he and his detectives had, indeed, done a thorough job investigating Rachel’s disappearance. They had interviewed nearly two dozen members of the congregation at Paradise Christian. All had expressed shock and dismay over their pastor’s disappearance-but not surprise. Pastor Rachel had been behaving strangely, they’d said. Differently from the woman they had chosen to lead their flock. Her sermons had become bizarre, and she had been acting secretive, nervous and jumpy. One woman reported paying a call on Rachel and finding her crying. Several others had reported Rachel stopping by their home unexpectedly to ask questions about their teenage children.
The police had also spoken with her sister’s housekeeper, the church groundskeeper, secretary and a handful of others Rachel had had contact with in her last days. The report mentioned a teenager in Rachel’s counsel, but not the youngster’s name.
The police had done a complete search of both the parsonage, church and its grounds. That search had yielded nothing out of the ordinary-and certainly not anything to indicate her sister had been a victim of violence. By that point they had begun to conclude Pastor Rachel had disappeared under her own power, but as a matter of course they had issued a statewide BOLO-police vernacular for Be On the Lookout For-then had contacted all the morgues, hospitals and medical centers in south Florida.
Their efforts had yielded nothing.
Soon after they had closed the investigation.
The scream of tires skidding to a halt startled her out of her thoughts. Liz realized with a shock that she had stepped off the sidewalk and into traffic.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, lady! You got a death wish or something!”
Heart thundering, Liz scurried backward. Vivid pink petals from a low-hanging branch of the oleander tree above her fluttered to the ground. The irate driver gunned his engine and pulled past her, shooting her a disgusted look as he did.
Liz brought a hand to her chest, shaken. What was wrong with her? She could have been killed. If that driver had been distracted or traffic had been heavier…
She sucked in a shuddering breath, working for calm. Her therapist had warned her she didn’t have the emotional wherewithal for this. He had warned that signs of her fragile state would manifest itself in a number of ways: emotional highs and lows, forgetfulness, feelings of being overwhelmed or confused. Inability to concentrate.
“Ms. Ames? Are you all right?”
Liz glanced over her shoulder. Lieutenant Lopez stood in the KWPD doorway, expression concerned. Obviously, he had seen her boneheaded waltz into oncoming traffic. Dammit. The last thing she wanted him to know was just how thin an emotional thread she was hanging by.
She forced a smile. “Fine. Thanks for asking.”
“You need to be more careful. Traffic in this town can be pretty unforgiving.”
She stared at him a moment, unsettled. She found something vaguely threatening in his tone, his conciliatory expression. Just as she had earlier, when he had warned her about stepping on Key Westers’ toes.
Sweat beaded across her upper lip. She opened her mouth to speak, the voice that passed her lips was hardly her own, high and frightened sounding. She cringed at it, imagining his amusement. All but hearing his thoughts:
A family of fruit loops. Her and her sister both.
Liz turned and hurried toward Duval Street, concentrating on walking with purpose and confidence, shoulders back, head held high. She felt his gaze on her and fought glancing back.
If she did, he would know. He would see.
She was losing her mind.
Liz put one foot in front of the other, again and again. Sweat pooled under her arms and rolled down her spine. Light-headed, she focused on breathing deeply, on filling her lungs. Oxygen in. Garbage out.