Текст книги "The 9th Girl"

Автор книги: Tami Hoag

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

25

Kasselmann was the king of the press statement. He had the perfect look: as solid as a bull, as serious as a heart attack, handsomely groomed. He had the perfect authoritative voice. He was articulate and concise.

Kovac watched the live news feed on the television in the conference room. He had no desire to be questioned by the media. Reporters asked stupid questions, and they asked them over and over. He was more than happy to let Kasselmann take that spotlight.

Julia Gray stood beside the captain, looking stunned. She was as pale as a ghost, and the bruise on her cheek stood out despite her efforts to hide it with a clever hairstyle. When it was her turn to make her appeal for the return of her daughter, it seemed for an uncomfortable moment that she wasn’t going to say anything. She looked down at the podium, locked inside her own mind.

Kovac wondered if the good Dr. Warner had prescribed something for her nerves. Probably—and rightly so. Having dealt with more child abductions and disappearances than he cared to count, Kovac knew the terrible strain it put on the parents. They labored under a heavy burden of anxiety, fear, anger, uncertainty, and guilt. What could they have done to prevent this? Why couldn’t their child have been more careful, less headstrong? What was happening to their kid? Was she or he alive, dead, frightened, in pain?

Beside him in front of the television, John Quinn stood with his arms crossed and his brow set in concentration as he watched Julia Gray finally rouse herself to make the standard appeal for the return of her daughter or the revelation of any information that might shed light on her disappearance.

When they made the movie of Quinn’s life, George Clooney would be first in line to play him. He had that look about him—dark hair peppered with distinguished gray, dark eyes, strong jaw. He was the guy other guys wanted to be and the man every woman drooled over. He used those attributes to his advantage when he could but didn’t rely on them to carry him. He had a keen intellect, and he knew his subject as well as or better than anyone else in the business.

“What happened to her face?” he asked, not taking his eyes from the screen.

“She says she took a fall on the ice,” Elwood said. “Sprained her wrist too.”

“What does she do for living?”

“She’s a rep for a pharmaceutical company.”

“Where’s the husband?”

“They’ve been divorced for four years. He’s an odontologist. He remarried a younger woman who worked in his office.”

“Mom’s in a relationship with a shrink,” Kovac said.

“What’s he like?”

“Like a shrink. Dr. Know It All and Let Me Explain It to You Like You’re a Moron. Wears his sweaters tied around his neck,” Kovac added with disdain.

“I googled him,” Elwood said. “Turns out he’s fairly well-known in the metro area.”

Kovac scowled. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“Because you’re out of touch with the world around you,” Elwood pointed out. “He has a radio show on one of the local AM stations for parents dealing with teenagers. Two hours every Saturday morning. And he does a five-minute guest spot on the channel twelve morning show every Monday.”

“Oh, great,” Kovac grumbled. “A celebrity in his own mind. I’m liking him more and more.”

“What’s he like with the mother?” Quinn asked.

“He tried to be supportive last night,” Elwood said. “He came with her this morning.”

On-screen, Julia Gray had collapsed against Kasselmann, crying. Kasselmann held her upright and put an end to the press conference with another appeal for anyone with information to contact the department. The news feed cut back to the studio and perky Dana Nolan for a rehash of everything that had just gone on.

“So, John, you’ve already looked at everything we have on the Doc Holiday cases,” Kovac said, going to the coffee machine and pouring himself a cup of something that looked like used motor oil. “Now you’ve had a chance to look at our Zombie case. What’s your impression?”

Quinn jammed his hands on his hips and looked at the photos of the body that had been taped to the wall.

“It depends on where Doc is at in his career,” he said. “Based on the known cases we attribute to him, he’s dumped more bodies in the Twin Cities area than anywhere else—as far as we know. If we count this girl, he’s dumped four bodies here in a year’s time. To me, that says he’s comfortable here, he knows the area. Could be he lives here and he’s getting lazy. Dumping victims in his backyard, so to speak, allows him to easily revisit the spots and relive the fun. But it’s also risky.

“The other victims dumped here came from outside the state. If Zombie Doe and Penelope Gray are the same girl, then he both grabbed her here and dumped her here. That says he’s getting careless and he’s possibly escalating.”

He turned and faced them, looking grim.

“Some of these guys implode at the end of their careers,” he explained. “They start doing things they don’t normally do, varying from the pattern they’ve perfected.

“The classic example of this was Bundy. After years of following the same pattern, being careful enough to elude capture, to hide his victims’ remains, he went to Florida and went on a spree. In one night he attacked multiple victims in a sorority house, left them to be found instead of getting rid of their bodies, left potential witnesses behind, then went into another house and attacked another woman. A couple of days later he snatched a girl much younger than his usual victim. He was like a shark on a feeding frenzy.”

“Why do you think that happened?” Elwood asked.

“We don’t really know why some of these guys self-destruct like that,” Quinn said. “One theory is they build up a sense of invincibility that grows and grows until it crosses a line into mania. Another theory is they start feeling less and less control over their aberrant desires, that this scares them and they want someone to stop them.”

“Doc seems to enjoy the game too much for a conscience to stop him,” Kovac said.

“I would agree,” Quinn said. “But you never know. We can never truly get inside the heads of these guys. There were people in my field who believed Bundy took his act to Florida at the end because he knew he stood the greatest chance of being executed if he was caught there. Yet once he was convicted, he did everything in his power to stall and appeal and prevent the state from putting him in the electric chair. He played mind games with law enforcement right up to the end and enjoyed every minute of it.”

“Doc Holiday could be one of those guys, spiraling out of control,” Elwood said.

Quinn nodded. “He could be. There are definitely deviations from his usual pattern if this girl is one of his. The acid is something new. The nature of the stab wounds is different. The knife was different, less efficient.”

“Tippen suggested he could have been playing with the victim, creating more terror over a prolonged time period by using a smaller knife,” Kovac said.

Quinn considered the idea, raising his brows and tipping his head. “That’s possible. Or it’s not Doc at all, and we’re looking at an inexperienced killer who grabbed a weapon of opportunity, not realizing it wasn’t enough to get the job done easily.

“It’s just as easy to look at this and say it’s a mess created by an amateur. The knife didn’t get the job done, so your unsub tried to bludgeon her; thought she was dead and poured the acid on her face to obscure her identity, but she was still alive.”

“Great,” Kovac said. “So it could be Doc, or it could be anybody. Thanks for narrowing that down for us, John.”

Quinn shrugged. “It’s an inexact science.”

“Let’s say it is Doc Holiday,” Elwood said. “What would you suggest? Do we press that angle and try to draw him out?”

“The fact that he leaves his victims to be found says he clearly wants credit for his work,” Quinn said. “I would expect him to keep a scrapbook with a collection of articles about his murders. But he hasn’t tried to contact the authorities or the media up until now, right?”

“Nothing,” Kovac said.

“You’d probably get a rise out of him if you didn’t talk about him, if nobody mentioned him on the news or in the paper, but it’s too late for that.”

“I had to play that card to get manpower,” Kovac said.

“Everything’s a trade-off,” Quinn conceded. “You could push the idea that he’s getting sloppy, that you’re closing in on him, that it’s only a matter of time—”

“But I can’t back it up.”

“And you might push him into making a grand gesture,” Quinn warned. “You piss this guy off and he could make you pay—by making an innocent victim pay.”

Kovac picked up the remote and turned Dana Nolan the perky news girl off midsentence.

“That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

He grabbed a VHS tape cassette off the stand beside the TV and put it in the VCR.

“This is the last known sighting of Penelope Gray,” he said, hitting the Play button. “She left the Rock and Bowl at nine twenty-seven P.M. after having words with Christina Warner—the shrink’s daughter—and this is her at the convenience store that’s down the block from the Rock and Bowl a few minutes later. She comes into the store, buys a six-pack of beer with what we can assume is a fake ID.”

The girl walked toward the door, toward the camera, then stopped and spoke to someone who had to be standing outside the door—and outside the camera range. There was no audio. There was no way of knowing what she was saying or what her tone of voice might have been. There was no way of knowing what the other person was saying to her.

The girl took a couple of steps backward into the store, turning her head and looking in the direction of the counter, where several people waited in line to pay for purchases. One of the other customers glanced in her direction, disinterested, and turned back. Then Penelope Gray walked out of the store into the night.

Kovac froze the frame.

“Is there a camera outside the store?” Quinn asked.

“On the gas pumps, not pointed at the building.”

He rewound the tape and played the last bit again, feeling haunted by the image of Penny Gray walking out of sight. Walking toward a friend? A stranger? A killer?

Tippen came into the room holding up a sheaf of papers. “The Gray family cell phone records.”

Kovac snatched them with one hand and pulled his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket with the other. “Have you looked this over?”

“No. Hot off the press,” Tippen said. “I just got back from seeing Dr. Timothy Gray, root canal specialist to the beautiful, well-off mouths of Edina.”

“His daughter is missing, probably dead, and he’s at work?” Elwood said.

“The odontology show must go on.”

“We can assume dad and daughter aren’t close?” Quinn said.

“Dr. Gray says he used to be close to his daughter but that the girl just couldn’t understand the complex malfunctions of his marriage to her mother,” Tippen explained. “Like his need to do the nasty with the twentysomething receptionist named Brandi-with-an-i, for instance.”

“Poor kid,” Kovac muttered. “Dad betrays her and her mom for a piece of ass. She blames Mom for not being enough of a hot dish to hang on to her father. Mom resents the girl for reacting badly to having her family torn apart. The girl is collateral damage from both sides.”

“It’s the American way,” Tippen declared. “Destructive entitlement family-style. Dad wants what he wants. Screw everybody else. His involvement with his daughter is reduced to writing tuition checks and being annoyed by the fact that she won’t leave him to enjoy his shiny new family in peace. He seems more irritated than worried that she’s missing.”

“A recurring theme among the Gray parents,” Elwood commented.

“He said Penny has disappeared before. She’s headstrong and belligerent and is probably somewhere relishing the grief she’s causing.”

“Yeah, like the morgue,” Kovac said. “When did he last hear from her?”

“Christmas Day while he was enjoying a Rocky Mountain High holiday at his second home in Aspen. She sent him a text, a poem.”

“Did he still have it in his phone?”

“Yes. He says he keeps them all ‘just in case.’”

Quinn frowned. “In case of what?”

“The young Mrs. Dr. Gray is afraid of Penelope,” Tippen explained. “According to Dr. Gray, his wife is afraid Penny might try to do something to hurt her or their three-year-old daughter.”

“Does the girl have a history of violence?” Quinn asked.

“Apparently there was a drunken altercation at the grand opening of Dr. Gray’s new office eight or nine months ago,” Tippen said. “The spewing of obscenities, a slap, a little hair pulling. Nothing much as catfights go, but it frightened the wife and embarrassed the good doctor. He’s still pissed off.”

He pulled his phone out of a pocket and called up a text message. “This is her last text to her father:

Have a Holly Jolly Christmas

with your happy family

Don’t think about the child you left

Your home, your wife, and me.

You live the life you want to

Have everything you need

That’s all that really matters

You’re all about the greed.

So happy, happy Christmas

my father great and true

From the daughter who means nothing

in the greater scheme to you.”

“Wow,” Kovac said. “She should write for Hallmark. They could have a whole new line of greeting cards for bitter people.”

“I’d buy them,” Tippen said. “But the bottom line for us here is that our derelict dad was out of state when Penny Gray went missing. He’s off the hook—at least directly. He did, however, have some ironic unflattering things to say about his ex-wife.”

Kovac arched a brow. “Doesn’t every guy?”

“Specific to how she’s raising their daughter. He claims if she was more maternal and less self-absorbed and angry, the girl would be more well-adjusted and not hate everyone so much.”

“Kind of like how if he was more paternal and less of a dick, the girl would have a brighter outlook on relationships?” Kovac suggested.

“That train of thought somehow escaped him. He says the girl has no respect for the mother as a parent or as a woman or as anything. They fight constantly, and she especially hates her mother’s choice in men.”

“The girl doesn’t like the boyfriend?” Kovac asked, then shrugged. “I don’t like the boyfriend either.”

“Too bad she isn’t your daughter, then.”

“Yeah. She’d hate me too.”

“She’s a teenage girl,” Tippen said. “They hate everybody. Except rock stars and Channing Tatum.”

“Who’s Channing Tatum?”

Tippen gave him a look. “Do you have even a passing acquaintance with popular culture?”

Kovac scowled. “Hell no. Why would I?”

“This is why you’re single.”

“That’s not why I’m single,” Kovac said irritably. “I’m single because I spend all my time with you assholes.

“What’s going on with your niece?” he asked. “Is she getting any feedback from her Internet stuff?”

“A lot of comments,” Tippen said. “Whether or not any of them lead anywhere is another matter. I’ve got a couple of the guys borrowed from Sex Crimes tracking down the more interesting ones.”

Kovac blew out a sigh. “This thing is going in so many directions, I feel like I’m wrestling a fucking octopus.”

“You need to know what happened after she walked out of that store,” Quinn said. “Right now, that’s your key moment. Who was she talking to? Did she leave with them? Did they follow her? Somebody had to see something.”

Kovac nodded. “We’ll get this video to the TV stations and stress the need for any kind of information at all. If someone remembers seeing her that night, I want to talk to that person whether they think they have information or not.

“In the meantime, Elwood,” he said, starting for the door, “let’s you and I go talk to the mother and see what lovely things she has to say about her ex.”

26

Julia Gray was pacing the narrow width of the interview room, her arms crossed as if holding herself together. Her head snapped in Kovac’s direction as he walked in. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, she looked haggard and ten years older than she had the night before. The bruise on her cheek had darkened.

Michael Warner sat at the small, round white table, composed, though he had already shed his coat and pushed up the sleeves of his black sweater. His forehead glistened with a fine mist of sweat. He rose and shook hands with Kovac.

“Detective Kovac.”

“Dr. Warner. Mrs. Gray.”

“Have you heard anything?” she asked. “Captain Kasselmann said leads are coming in. People have called in to say they’ve seen Penny. Is that true?”

Elwood pulled a chair out for her. “Have a seat, Mrs. Gray. We’ll go over everything.”

She glanced at Michael Warner as if looking for his permission. Kovac sat down, perched his reading glasses on his nose, and looked down at the cell phone records he had stuck in a file folder and carried in with him. Elwood took the remaining seat, dwarfing the table like a bear at a child’s tea party, ready to jot notes on a yellow legal pad. Julia Gray fidgeted in her seat. “Why is it so warm in here?”

“Apologies for that, ma’am,” Elwood said. “There’s something going on with the heating system.”

“It’s really uncomfortable,” she complained, yet she continued to keep her arms crossed tight around her.

Michael Warner leaned over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Try to relax, Julia. Deep breaths.”

“We’ve had a number of calls to the AMBER Alert hotline,” Elwood said. “Every potential lead will be checked out. That said, we have yet to locate your daughter’s vehicle, and the last substantiated sighting of her was at a Holiday gas station the evening of the thirtieth.”

Kovac lifted his head. “May I see your cell phone, Mrs. Gray? I’d like to just take a look at your daughter’s text messages to you, see if there might be some bit of information that could be helpful to us.”

She hefted her purse onto the table. It was half the size of a gunnysack, with designer logos stamped all over it. She held it open with her injured right hand and dug for the phone with the left.

“Are you right– or left-handed, Mrs. Gray?” Kovac asked.

She glanced up at him. “I’m right-handed. Why?”

“I broke my right hand once. I couldn’t write, couldn’t type, couldn’t turn a doorknob. What a pain in the rear.”

“Yes, it is,” she said absently, looking into the purse. “I don’t have it. My phone. I must have left it in the car.”

Kovac flicked a glance at Elwood. What mother of a missing child absentmindedly left her phone in the car? Even if it was likely the girl was dead, until they had confirmation, a mother had to hold out hope, however slim.

“You haven’t had any text messages from your daughter’s number since we spoke last night?”

“No.”

“The phone seems to have been turned off,” Elwood said. “Or the battery died. I’ve been in contact with Apple. Your daughter did install the Find My iPhone app, but in that model the app only works if the phone is turned on.”

“So you can’t locate it,” Michael Warner said.

“No,” Kovac said, looking at the phone records. “But we can narrow down the vicinity the phone was in when it was being used. For instance, on the night she went missing, calls pinged off a tower near the Rock and Bowl. Since that night the phone has been in two areas. One hits off a tower on Pleasant Avenue South, west of 35W and north of Highway 62. The other is an AT&T tower located at 3910 Stephens Avenue just east of your own neighborhood, Mrs. Gray.”

She looked confused. “I’m not sure what we’re supposed to make of that.”

Kovac moved on, letting her wonder. “When was the last time you actually saw Penny, Mrs. Gray?”

“The twenty-eighth. Dinnertime. I had just gotten home from work.”

“You said the two of you had words. What about?”

She glanced at Warner as she pulled in a breath and sighed sharply. “She was angry. She was hurt. She didn’t hear from her father on Christmas, and she’d been stewing on that for two days. She was angry with me for—for—everything. For losing her father, for not being who she wants me to be, for my relationship with Michael.”

“Penny doesn’t approve of your relationship?” Elwood asked.

“Penny wouldn’t approve of any relationship her mother has,” Michael Warner said. “Unless Julia and her ex-husband got back together—and not even then. What she wants is a fantasy. She wants things to be the way her memory has painted the relationship between her parents when she was a little girl.”

“Are you treating Penny, Dr. Warner?” Kovac asked.

“Not any longer. I was her therapist for a time. That’s how Julia and I met. Of course, we didn’t become involved until after I stopped seeing Penny as a patient,” he hastened to add.

“Is that why you stopped seeing her?”

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “After evaluating Penny and having a number of sessions with her, I determined she would be better served by a female therapist. Because of the situation with her father, she feels a strong need to try to manipulate men. That makes the therapist’s job ten times more difficult.”

“So who does she see now?”

“No one,” Julia said. “I sent her to the woman Michael recommended, and she would go and spend the entire time not talking or making eye contact. I’m not interested in paying for that, and she wasn’t interested in going. There was no point.”

And once again Julia Gray had taken the path of least resistance where her daughter was concerned. Even when Penny Gray had been physically present in her mother’s life, she had been lost.

“So Penny picked a fight with you that night?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Did she ever get physically violent with you?”

“No! Of course not!” she said a little too emphatically. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Your ex-husband mentioned an incident where your daughter attacked his wife,” Elwood said.

She rolled her eyes. “That was blown all out of proportion.”

“You were there?”

“No, of course I wasn’t there,” she snapped. “Tim’s office manager told me about it. I’ve known her for years. She said Brandi overreacted. She’s such a drama queen. I’ve never understood how Tim doesn’t see right through her. Everyone else does.”

“So you and your daughter argued, but there was no physical fight,” Kovac said.

“No!” She went to throw her hands up in frustration and stopped midgesture, looking at the brace on her hand and wrist, realization dawning. “I told you. I slipped and fell on the ice.”

“Where did that happen, Mrs. Gray?” Elwood asked.

“It happened in a parking lot in St. Louis Park,” she said, clearly irritated. “I was leaving an appointment at Four Seasons Women’s Clinic.”

“At least you got quick medical attention,” he said.

“I didn’t go back into the clinic. I was embarrassed, and I didn’t think I was hurt that badly. Besides, what were a bunch of gynecologists going to do for my wrist? I had it checked out at an urgent care later.”

“What day was that?”

“That same day. The twenty-eighth.”

“That was some bad day,” Kovac commented. “And at the end of the argument that evening Penny left the house?”

“Yes,” she said. Tears rose in her eyes. She forced herself to sit up straight and hold on to her dignity. “She said she hated me, couldn’t stand to be around me, and that she would go be with people who didn’t make her want to puke.”

The poor long-suffering mother.

“And where did she go?” Kovac asked.

Frustration tightened the lines around her mouth. “I don’t know exactly. I didn’t hear from her until the next day. I know she ended up staying with her friend Bethany.”

“Brittany,” Elwood corrected her. “Brittany Lawler.”

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose as if against the pain of a headache, very aware of the fact that she was once again striking out in the Mother of the Year contest.

She scowled at Kovac. “Why are we even talking about this? We know where she was last seen. What difference does it make where she was before that?”

Kovac ignored the question. “Where were you on the evening of the thirtieth, Mrs. Gray?”

“Michael and I went to a concert at the Orpheum and had a late dinner after.”

“At what restaurant?” Elwood asked, scribbling down the details.

Michael Warner leaned forward, looking grave. “I don’t like the direction this is taking, Detective. You can’t possibly think Julia had something to do with whatever happened to Penny.”

Kovac smiled blandly. “It’s important that we get as clear a picture as possible of the time leading up to Penny’s disappearance. An investigation is like a game of chess. We need to know where all the pieces were before our bad guy—whoever that may be—made his big move. We need to see not only the big picture but all the small details.”

“What time did you get home?” Elwood asked.

“I’ve seen this happen on television!” Julia Gray said, alarmed. “A child goes missing and the police waste valuable time harassing the parents. I didn’t do anything to my daughter! How could you even think such a thing?”

“We don’t know you, Mrs. Gray,” Elwood said reasonably. “We can’t make assumptions about anyone in your daughter’s life. We’re not accusing you of anything, but it’s essential that we remain open to all possibilities.”

“Should Julia have an attorney here?” Warner asked.

“This isn’t an interrogation, Dr. Warner,” Kovac said. “No one is under arrest. We’re just trying to get as much information as possible to help guide us in the right direction.”

“I didn’t see my daughter after she left the house on the twenty-eighth,” Julia Gray said tersely.

“And what time did you get home on the thirtieth?” Elwood asked.

“Twelve thirty or so.”

“And you, Dr. Warner?”

“Shortly after that.

“Was your daughter home by then?”

“No. Christina got home around one.”

“Did she say anything about what went on at the Rock and Bowl?” Kovac asked.

“She said she spent the evening out with her friends.”

“She didn’t say anything about Penny Gray?”

“No.”

“Even though, according to kids who were there, Christina and Penny had an argument that ended with Penny leaving.”

“As you’ve heard, an argument that ends with Penny leaving isn’t exactly newsworthy,” Warner said. “Penny is an intrinsically unhappy girl, Detective. She’s unhappy with her life. She’s unhappy with herself. She’s unhappy with her mother and about her mother’s relationship with me. She’s jealous of Christina. She’s jealous of my relationship with my daughter because she doesn’t have a relationship with her own father. I’ve tried to fill that void for her in small ways, and she resents me for it.”

“I’ve been told the dislike between the girls runs both ways,” Kovac said. “According to a witness at the Rock and Bowl, Christina was picking on Penny that night, making fun of her poetry—something that was also not an isolated incident.”

Warner sighed. “I’m not going to try to paint my daughter as a perfect angel, Detective. But you can talk to Christina’s teachers, to her friends. She’s an excellent student. She’s a leader in her class. She mentors younger girls.

“She has tried to be friends with Penny. Penny isn’t interested. That Christina occasionally fights back when Penny lashes out at her is only normal.”

“Girls will be girls.”

“Essentially, yes. Yet when I told Christina last night about Penny being missing, the first thing she wanted to do was help in some way.”

“That’s admirable,” Elwood said. “Hopefully, she’ll be able to help. We’ll be speaking with the kids later today. Maybe they’ll be able to shed some light. People don’t always realize what they know. Sometimes a seemingly insignificant detail can mean everything.”

“Your daughter’s poetry, for example,” Kovac said to Julia Gray. “Her last Facebook post was a poem. It certainly seems to be directed at someone in particular.”

He pulled a printed copy of the poem entitled “Liar” out of the file folder and slid it across the table to a neutral spot between Julia Gray and Michael Warner. He sat back in his chair and watched them read it with his eyelids at half-mast, as if he might doze off.

Julia Gray looked frustrated by her inability to penetrate her daughter’s work—or her world—in any way. Michael Warner read it without expression.

“Any idea who she might be talking about?” Kovac asked.

“Her father, obviously,” Warner said. “She was lashing out at him. He has all but cut her out of his life. She was especially feeling the sting of that over the holidays.”

“But what’s the lie?” Kovac asked. “It’s been four years since your husband left you and Penny, Mrs. Gray. It’s no secret he was cheating on you, that he left you for a younger woman. Considering your daughter’s penchant for public displays of drama, I can’t imagine anyone didn’t know how she felt about it all. So what’s the lie? What’s the secret? Who’s the star she means to bring down?”

Michael Warner slid the sheet of paper back toward him and said, “We can only hope we get a chance to ask her.”

“And for the record, Mrs. Gray,” Elwood said, “where were you New Year’s Eve?”

“We went out for drinks,” she said, tearing up. Michael Warner put an arm around her shoulders to offer comfort while she covered her mouth with her injured hand.

Kovac imagined her remembering the revelry of the evening, dressed to the nines, ringing in the New Year while her daughter was lying dead in the road, a spectacle under the harsh portable lights, TV news cameras angling to get a shot of the carnage.

Every mother’s nightmare.

He hoped.