Bishop's face was set, the scar down his cheek white and angry looking.
"You heard me. He needs to see her."
"Why? Why does he have to have that horrible memory of her forever?"
"Because her death won't be real to him until he sees her lying lifeless and mangled on a slab," Bishop answered, the words brutal but his voice very soft. "The first stage of grief is denial. Until he gets past that, he can't go on."
Part of Faith understood, but another part wanted to spare Kane. She nodded and tried to think about something else. "Were you nearby when Richardson called you? I didn't think you'd come back to Atlanta yet.
"I hadn't. I was in Tennessee."
When he didn't explain, Faith said, "I guess you caught a fast plane."
"Fast enough."
Faith gave up. "Look, I... I need to go to Haven House. They knew Dinah.They should hear about it from someone before they see it on the news.But I promised Kane I wouldn't go anywhere unescorted, especially after the shooting. Tim, would you..."
"Of course," the private investigator answered.
She looked at Bishop. "When Kane gets back ... I don't think he should be here alone. Do you?"
"No more than he already is," Bishop said bleakly.
Unlike several of the adults in the shelter, Katie didn't cry when Faith told her about Dinah. Instead, the solemn little girl retreated to the music room and began picking her way through one of the songs Faith had brought her to learn.
"Will she be all right?" Faith asked Karen.
"I don't know," the director said wearily. "She wasn't in great shape before, especially since she saw her bastard of a father take a baseball bat to her mother. He was crazy enough this time to go after Andrea in a mall, of all places, so at least he's locked up, but Katie saw more than ever before and she's been awfully quiet since then."
Karen frowned. "She talked more to you when you were here Sunday than she has to anybody else since it happened."
Faith had intended to stay only long enough to break the news about Dinah; she was worried about Kane and wanted to get back to his apartment. But now she was worried about Katie as well and couldn't leave without trying to make sure the little girl was all right.
"Hey, kiddo." She sat down on the bench beside Katie. "Do you like the new music?"
Katie nodded and looked up at Faith gravely. "You didn't forget. Thank you."
"Of course I didn't forget." Faith hesitated. "I thought you might want to talk about Dinah."
"Why? She's dead, that's what you told us."
Faith wasn't deceived by the callous words; she had seen Katie's bottom lip quiver.
"When people die," she said carefully, "we keep them alive inside us. By thinking about them. Talking about them. I just wanted you to know it's okay to do that. You can talk to Karen, and you can talk to me."
Katie looked down at the piano as she picked out the first few notes of "Beautiful Dreamer". After a moment, she said, "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course you can, kiddo."
"Can you an you talk to Dinah now? In your head, the way you used to could?"
Out of the mouths of babes.
Oh, God, can I? Can I talk to her?
"No," Faith said, "not that way." It was true? If nothing else was true, at least it was true that nothing was the way it had been before.
"I just wondered," Katie mumbled.
Guessing, Faith said, "Is there something you wanted to tell Dinah? Something you wanted to ask her? Is that it?"
"No. Except.."
"Except what?"
"Nothing. I want to practice now."
Faith watched that little face close up and felt frustrated and anxious. But her instincts told her not to force the issue, so she just said she'd see Katie later and quietly went away.
"I'll keep an eye on her," Karen reassured her in the foyer a few minutes later. "She probably just needs time. And her mama out of the hospital, of course."
"Yeah, I guess." Faith gave her the number at Kane's apartment and said, "Call me if... if there's anything I can do to help."
"Sure. Try not to worry, Faith."
That, Faith thought, was easier said than done. Far easier.
"Of course they caught him coming out of the morgue," Bishop said savagely, watching the TV.
As before, microphones were shoved in front of Kane and questions shouted at him, but this time he wore the look of a man barely conscious of those around him — until one reporter demanded to know how he'd felt upon learning of the brutal murder of his fiancée. Kane gave the reporter a stare of such incredulity that the others were silenced, and into that silence he spoke with cold precision.
"The million-dollar reward I offered for information leading to Dinah's safe return will now be paid to the person or persons providing information that leads me to her killers."
"That's torn it," Bishop said softly.
"Can't Richardson stop him?" Faith asked.
"Obviously not." The detective was speaking urgently into Kane's ear, but he was totally ignored. Kane repeated his offer, allowing the words to fall like separate chips of ice, and only after he was absolutely sure that every reporter had written down or taped his offer did he allow Richardson to hustle him into a car.
When the TV reporter began breathlessly to relate the gruesome facts of the discovery of Dinah's body, Bishop muted the set and looked at Faith.
"Here we go," he said.
"What do you expect to happen?"
"A feeding frenzy. Every reporter in town will be trying to solve the murder, to say nothing of way too many private investigators and amateur sleuths. "
"Couldn't that be good? I mean, with so many trying ..."
"It'll just muddy the water. And Richardson wasn't kidding when he warned Kane he could be charged with reckless endangerment if somebody gets hurt or killed trying to earn that reward."
"He isn't thinking clearly."
"No. And he'll regret it later. But for now..."
"The damage is done?"
"I'm afraid so. Worst of all, Dinah's killers could be spooked into taking actions they might not otherwise have taken."
"They won't go after Kane?"
"Probably not. There's a very bright spotlight on him right now."
Bishop looked at her steadily. "But they could very well go after you. With Dinah gone, you're the key, Faith."
"A key with no memory."
"If I were them" he said, "with a city full of people trying to figurer out who I am, and a million-dollar bounty on my head, I wouldn't take any chances by presuming the validity of amnesia."
"No," Faith said reluctantly. "Neither would I."
It was called the witching hour, Faith knew. Three A.M., when all the world seemed quiet and still, and nothing was lonelier to listen to than the beating of your own heart.
Except maybe "Moonlight Sonata".
He was playing it so quietly it wouldn't have awakened her if she had been asleep. But she hadn't been. She'd lain there in his bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, and soon after midnight he had begun playing. The soft sound got into her head somehow, throbbed inside her like the echo of feelings, the wordless rendering of instincts. It made her heart ache.
She thought he was grieving with the music, allowing the notes to express the pain and longing he couldn't yet release in any other way.
He had returned to the apartment so controlled and withdrawn there had been no way to reach him, to touch him, even if Faith had dared try. She hadn't dared.
To her he was formal, indifferent. She might have been a total stranger, a guest he suffered in his home and his life out of courtesy and nothing else. More than once, she had the impression he didn't even see her when he looked at her.
And now it was the witching hour, and Faith lay in the bed in which he had coolly insisted she continue to sleep, listening to him play the piano with such grinding emotion she wanted to cry.