Frank’s gaze never faltered, becoming almost belligerent. “I was out of town yesterday and today. I didn’t get your messages until I got back tonight.”

“I sat outside your office for nearly forty-five minutes today,” Daniel said quietly. “Wanda said you couldn’t be disturbed. I don’t care if you needed to get away, but you wasted my time. Time I could have been looking for the man who killed Janet Bowie.”

Frank finally looked away. “I’m sorry, Daniel.” But the apology was stiffly delivered. “The last week has been difficult. Your parents… they were my friends. The funeral was difficult enough, but the media… After dealing with reporters all week, I needed some space. I told Wanda not to let anybody know I was gone. I should have called you.”

A little of Daniel’s anger melted away. “It’s okay. But Frank, I really need that police report-the one on Alicia Tremaine’s murder. Please get it for me.”

“I’ll get it for you first thing in the morning,” Frank promised, “when Wanda comes in. She knows how everything’s filed in the basement. You’re sure it’s Janet?”

“Her fingerprints match.”

“Dammit. Who did this?”

“Well, now that we know who she is, we can start investigating. Frank, if you needed help, why didn’t you call me?”

Frank’s jaw squared. “I didn’t say I needed help. I said I needed space. I went up to my cabin to be alone.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Okay,” Daniel murmured, trying not to feel stung. “Frank?”

Frank looked back. “What?” It was very nearly a snap.

“Bailey Crighton. I think she really is missing.”

Frank’s lip curled. “Thanks for your opinion, Special Agent Vartanian. Good night.”

Daniel shook off the hurt. He had work to do and couldn’t afford to worry about Frank Loomis. Frank was a grown man. If and when he needed help, Daniel would be there for him.

Ed came up behind him. “We’re dusting her room. I found a few old diaries in a drawer. A few matchbooks. Not much else. What did you find out about the boyfriend?”

“His name is Lamar Washington, African-American. He plays in a jazz club. Patricia didn’t know where.”

Ed held out a baggie filled with matchbooks. “Could be one of these places.”

Daniel took the bag. “I’ll write down the names, then give them back. Patricia said Janet made it sound like a fling, that Janet never intended to bring him home.”

“That could make a man mad enough to beat a woman’s face in,” Ed said. “But it doesn’t explain copying the Tremaine scene.”

“I know,” Daniel said. “But it’s all I have for now. I’m going to check out the jazz clubs once I’m done here.”

“We’re going to check out Janet’s apartment.” Ed held up a key ring. “Janet’s brother Michael got us the key to her place.”

When Ed was gone, Daniel went into the sitting room, which was standing room only. Michael Bowie was the only family member in the room. He’d changed into a black suit and his face was haggard in his grief, but he was ever the politician’s son. “Can you give them a statement so they’ll go?” Michael murmured. “I just want them all to go.”

“I’ll make it fast,” Daniel murmured back, then cleared his throat. “Excuse me.” He’d already introduced himself when he’d taken their statements and whereabouts at the time of Janet’s death Thursday night. A few postured, but all complied. “We’ve tentatively identified the body found in Arcadia Sunday afternoon as that of Janet Bowie.” No one was surprised at this point. “We’ll run confirmatory DNA testing and I’ll schedule a press conference when we have definitive findings.”

Jim Woolf stood up. “What was the official cause of death?”

“I’ll have an official statement as to cause of death tomorrow.” Daniel checked his watch. “I mean later today. Probably after noon.”

The mayor smoothed his tie. “Agent Vartanian, do you have any suspects?”

“We have some leads, Mayor Davis,” Daniel said. That title felt odd. He’d played football with Garth Davis in high school. Garth had been a thickheaded jock back then, one of the last people Daniel would have expected to run for mayor, much less win. But Garth did come from a long line of politicians. Garth’s daddy had been Dutton’s mayor for years. “I’ll have an official statement tomorrow.”

“Toby, how is Mrs. Bowie?” Woolf asked, directing his question to the town’s doctor.

“Resting,” Toby Granville said, but everyone knew that meant “sedated.” Everyone had heard the poor woman’s shrieks when her husband told her the ID was official.

Daniel gestured toward the door. “It’s very late. I’m sure everyone here means to offer their support, but you all need to go home. Please.”

The mayor held back as everyone exited. “Daniel, do you have any suspects?”

Daniel sighed. The day was catching up to him. “Garth…”

Davis leaned closer. “I’m going to have all the residents of Dutton calling me as soon as the Review hits their front porches. They’re going to be worried about the safety of their families. Please give me something more to tell them than you’ve got leads.”

“That’s all I can tell you because it’s all we know. We’ve only just identified her in the last two hours. Give us a day, at least.”

Frowning, Davis nodded. “You’ll call my office?”

“I promise.”

Finally everyone was gone and it was just Daniel and Michael and Toby Granville. “I thought they’d never leave,” Michael said, his shoulders sagging wearily.

Granville tugged on his tie. “I’m going to go check on your mother before I head out. You call me if she needs anything during the night.”

Daniel shook both men’s hands. “If there’s anything you or your family needs, Michael, please call me.” He stepped through the Bowies ’ front door and was immediately hit by a strong gusty wind. A storm was blowing in, he thought as he looked down the big hill to the street where three additional news vans had now congregated. The reporters swarmed from the vans when they spied him up on the stoop. Like locusts, Daniel thought with an inner wince. He could kind of see Frank’s point, in the smallest of ways.

He steeled himself for the onslaught as he made his way down the hill past a Mercedes, two BMWs, a Rolls-Royce, a Jag, and a Lincoln Town Car to where he’d left his own state-issued vehicle. Reporters from the news van had been interviewing Garth, but they swarmed toward him as he passed by.

“Agent Vartanian, can you comment…” Daniel lifted his hand, silencing them.

“We’ve identified the Arcadia victim as Janet Bowie.” Lights flashed as they took their pictures and rolled their video and Daniel put on his best press face.

“Has the congressman been notified?”

Daniel fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, or I wouldn’t be telling you now. No more comments for tonight. I’ll be scheduling a press conference for tomorrow. Call the PR hotline at GBI headquarters for the time and venue. Good night.”

He started walking and one of the reporters followed. “Agent Vartanian, how does it feel investigating a murder in your hometown just a week after your brother’s murder?”

Daniel stopped and blinked at the young man holding the microphone. Simon hadn’t been murdered. To use that word was an affront to victims and their families everywhere. Simon had been exterminated. But that word was inflammatory in its own right. So Daniel said only, “No comment.” The man opened his mouth to push and Daniel gave him a look so cold the reporter took a physical step back.

“No more questions,” the man said in answer to the threat Daniel had left unvoiced.

It was a look Daniel had learned from his father. Freezing men with a single look was one of Arthur Vartanian’s many skills. Daniel didn’t employ the skill often, but when he did, it was effective. “Good night.”

When he got to his car, Daniel closed his eyes. He’d dealt with grieving families for years, and it never got easier. But it was Frank Loomis’s behavior that bothered him the most. Frank had been the closest thing Daniel had had to a real father. God knew Arthur Vartanian hadn’t filled that role. To be the object of Frank’s… scorn. It stung.