That referral letter was to Dr. Richard Symon.

He shut down the computer and made sure everything was as it had been, then exited the clinic, the door lock snicking quietly behind him.

“You have it?” The oval of Anahera’s face looking at him from under the black knit cap she’d pulled on.

He nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”

It wasn’t until they were back home and making themselves a midnight snack that Will said, “I’m going to have to go out of town tomorrow. I’ll leave before dawn so I can make the trip and be back by midmorning.”

Anahera nodded. “If you don’t mind, I’ll use your computer to sort out a new passport for myself.” She finished stirring sugar into her hot cocoa. “I might swing by the cabin, too.”

To reclaim it, replace the memories of Vincent’s violence with peace. “I’d rather you wait until I’m back,” Will said. “Or if you want to go alone, give me another ­twenty-­four hours.”

Dark eyes locked with his. “You think Vincent is telling the truth.”

“I’ll know after my visit tomorrow morning.” Hit by a sudden cold that reached into his bones, he closed his hand over her wrist. “Come with me.”

He knew she was a woman who valued her freedom, but after studying his expression, she said, “I need to buy some more clothes and a new laptop anyway. Will I be able to get those where you’re going?”

Will exhaled silently. “I know a place.”

They left the next morning in the misty gray time before true dawn.

Anahera said only, “Good luck,” when he dropped her off at the small mall that held both an electronics store and clothing shops.

The mall wasn’t yet open, but the café out front was doing a brisk business.

Waiting until after she’d walked into the café, Will drove on to his destination. The visitor parking lot was empty at this early hour, but he spotted a couple of cars in the small staff lot.

He rang the bell.

The door was opened by a cheerful Indian woman with small daisy earrings in her lobes. “I’m afraid Dr. Symon isn’t starting for another fifteen minutes,” she said. “Do you have an early appointment? You’re welcome to sit inside where it’s warm.”

Will showed her his identification. “I’d like to talk to Dr. Symon. It shouldn’t take long.”

The woman’s eyes widened, but her tone remained professional. “Come inside. I’ll go fetch him.”

A slender man with graying brown hair appeared from a back room less than a minute later, crumbs of toast on his tie. “Detective,” he said, holding out his hand. “How can I help you?”

“Perhaps we can talk in your office,” Will said after they shook.

“Of course.” The other man held up his mug of coffee. “Would you like one, too?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

They were soon seated in the doctor’s office with the door shut behind them. “I’m going to ask you about a patient,” Will began after taking a generous sip of the hot liquid.

“I’m sure you’re quite aware of medical privilege,” Dr. Symon began.

“The patient is dead. Murdered.”

Richard Symon put down his coffee with a dull thud. His eyes skidded slightly up and to his right before landing on Will again.

Will went motionless; this was why he hadn’t called ahead. “You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

The other man made a game attempt to recover. “Hard to miss, what with her death being linked to a serial killer. It’s been in the news nonstop.”

Will put down his coffee on a clear spot on the doctor’s desk. “You and I both know you were aware of her death long before then. Is Dominic de Souza a good friend?”

“A colleague.” Dr. Symon pulled at the knot of his tie. “­We—­the doctors who work on the West ­Coast—­try to keep in touch, help each other out when we can.”

“He referred Miriama Tutaia to you.”

“I suppose there’s no harm in confirming that. I am, after all, her physician of record.” A short pause. “Do you need medical data to verify her identity, is that it?” He smiled shakily. “I’ve never been in this position before, but I can’t see any problem with such a request.”

Will locked his eyes with Dr. Symon’s. “What I’m about to ask you is tied directly to Miriama’s murder. Think carefully before you answer.”

63

Anahera asked Will to drop her off by her Jeep when they drove back into Golden Cove. It was still parked in front of Matilda’s house. “At least this didn’t go up in flames,” she said as they transferred over her clothing purchases.

“You heading to the café?” asked the cop who’d somehow become more to her. “Passport application?”

“No, I managed to finish that at the mall.” After setting up her laptop, she’d used her phone hot spot to start the process of obtaining new travel documents; it helped that she’d scanned and backed up all important docu­ments in the cloud. “I’m planning to call Jemima, see if she’ll see me.”

The police had taped off the Baker estate as a crime scene. Jemima and her children were currently staying in the guesthouse on Daniel’s estate, but neither Daniel nor Keira was in residence. They’d left the country the day after Vincent’s arrest, after Keira’s ­Canberra-­based grandmother had a severe seizure and was placed in intensive care.

Jemima kept the gate locked and wasn’t answering calls. The police had gone to her for interviews, rather than force her to come to the ­station—­probably because they knew the circus that would follow should she leave the May estate.

You’d think Golden Cove’s remote location would help protect Vincent’s family from the impact of his notoriety, but the media were camped out at the gates. Some would no doubt have jumped them by now if the police hadn’t stationed a patrol car there and made it clear that anyone who stepped onto private property without permission would be arrested.

While certain journalists might’ve shrugged off the possibility of a trespass conviction in their determination to get an exclusive, the bloodsuckers were smart enough not to take on the vicious dogs currently roaming the property. Matthew Teka had quietly offered Jemima the dogs when a reporter managed to reach her front door, and she’d accepted.

That was the only communication anyone had had from her since the arrest.

“Be careful.” Will’s gray eyes held her gaze. “Matthew’s dogs took a chunk out of a cameraman’s leg yesterday.”

“He shouldn’t have been trying to sneak up to the house.” Anahera had no sympathy for those who preyed on the pain and heartbreak of a woman who’d had nothing to do with her husband’s horrific crimes. “If she doesn’t want me there, I won’t go.” Simple as that.

“You realize she might blame you for what happened to Vincent?”

“Yes.” She touched her fingers to his jaw. “Go be a cop, Will. I’m going to be a friend if she wants one.”