“To say what?”

I turned to find Edna standing in the doorway behind me. She stepped into the room and closed the screen door behind her. She wore her black coat and she had her pocketbook over one arm.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving us,” I said. “How’d you manage to find a new place so fast? You must have checked the foreclosure filings.”

“We can see when we aren’t wanted.”

“Oh, but you are wanted,” I said. “Look what I found.”

I reached into my bag, pulling out the handful of newspaper clippings I’d copied. I held up the first, headlines screaming, PERDIDO CC EMPLOYEE ARRESTED IN ALLEGED THEFT.

She glanced at it, unaffected. “I don’t know anything about that.”

I wagged a finger at her. “Yes, you do,” I said. “I have copies of your mug shots, which I must say are not flattering.”

In her booking photograph Edna looked haunted, eyes large, hair limp. The harsh lighting played up every wrinkle in her face. In Joseph’s, his expression was startled and his skin looked wet. I’d have suggested powdering out the shine, but maybe the Perdido County Jail didn’t offer hair and makeup services.

“We were never convicted of anything,” she said.

“There’s still time,” I said. I checked my watch and pointed at the face. “Oops. Maybe not.”

I was looking through the screen door behind her. She turned and caught sight of Mr. Ryvak coming up the walk. I’d spoken to him on the phone, but this was the first time I’d laid eyes on him. He was in his midforties, wearing slacks and a short-sleeved dress shirt. A halo of ginger hair and a nice freckled face.

Edna recognized him and her composure slipped. There was a note of panic in her voice. “Why is he here?”

“To take you into custody, sweetheart. Remember your bail bondsman? He has the right to pursue bail skips, and since he’s not a government agent, he doesn’t need a warrant.”

•   •   •

I confess I chortled all the way to the office, cheered by the idea that Edna and Joseph would finally be held to account. I’d barely sat down at my desk when the phone rang. I picked up, hoping it was Henry so I could share the good news.

It was Dietz. He skipped right over the greetings and the chitchat. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

I felt like someone had thrown a bucket of water in my face. “You obviously know more than I do, so you tell me.”

“I can tell you who Susan Telford is. Everybody in this part of the state knows who she is. She’s a fourteen-year-old white female who disappeared two years ago in March. It must not have made the papers in California, but it was all over the news here: headlines, television coverage, radio appeals, reward offered.”

I felt myself go still. “What happened to her?”

“She vanished. She might as well have gone up in smoke. She was last seen the morning of the twenty-eighth, walking on Paseo Verde Parkway in Henderson, the supposition being she was on her way to the park. Her mother reported her missing that evening when she didn’t come home. The cops talked to everyone—family, her friends, teachers, the park maintenance crew, people who lived in the area surrounding the park. They rounded up registered sex offenders, vagrants.”

“Nobody saw anything?”

“Eventually her best friend spoke up. At first, she was too damn scared, but she finally broke down and told her mom. Not that it made a difference. Her information was too vague to be of help.”

“Told her mom what?”

“Her story was some guy approached Susan in the mall a couple of days before. He was there snapping Polaroids. He said he worked for a fashion magazine and asked if she’d be interested in some freelance modeling. According to him, this was all preliminary. He’d be coming back with a crew to do the shoot in a few days, but he was scouting the area, looking for locations, and while he was at it, had his eye out for new and fresh talent.”

“Dietz.”

“That was all crap, of course. The guy was obviously cruising for young girls, and she was gullible enough to—”

I cut in again. “I’ve heard this story, only in the version I was told, her name was Janet Macy and she lived in Tucson. She was approached by a photographer with much the same kind of line. I talked to her mother on the phone a week ago. She last saw her daughter in 1986, but she thinks Janet went off to New York to launch her modeling career. Some photographer claimed he worked in the fashion industry and thought she showed promise. He was going to help her put together a portfolio. Not even sixteen years old and she went off with him like a damn fool.”