“Yup,” said Officer Clark, “my lucky day. You two stay right here until homicide shows up.”

He strode toward the television people.

“Homicide?” Emma said. “Can they tell that she was… you know…?”

“It’s all routine, Emma. Any suspicious death belongs to homicide.”

She offered an “Oh,” then fell silent, staring at where her house had stood only hours ago.

The investigators who arrived minutes later identified themselves as Sergeant Don White and Sergeant Ed Benson. They looked close to retirement age and vaguely familiar-perhaps just as I had looked familiar to Clark. We’d probably passed each other on the homicide floor at Travis Center when I visited Jeff while he was working.

White grinned at me. “Your pretty-boy cop goes on vacation and where do we find you? At the site of a possible homicide. What’s Jeff gonna say about that?”

He did recognize me. I extended my hand. “Abby Rose. I don’t think we’ve ever been introduced.”

“Hey. Don’t get all formal on me,” he said. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Jeff has nothing but good things to say about you, and believe me, he’s the man. Guy knows what he’s talking about.”

Benson spoke up. “Uh, Don, how about apologizing for giving me a hard time for the last ten years?”

“Shut up, Bennie.” White smiled again. “What are you doing here, Abby?”

I explained-and the explanation was long and detailed. Emma remained wrapped up like a ball at my feet, her shoes beside her. I wasn’t sure she was even hearing what I was saying. Benson, meanwhile, had snapped on gloves and left with Andrew, the two stepping over the crime scene tape and heading toward the spot where the bones had been found.

White turned his attention to Emma. He knelt in front of her and in a quiet voice said, “Miss Lopez? Can we talk?”

He was a huge man with hands like spatulas, and he held one out to her to help her up, treating her like the frightened child she had become. My guess was that her mind had taken her back in time, maybe to the kitchen of that now-demolished house. Maybe she saw herself standing on that throw rug over the crawl space door and blaming herself for the death of her sister.

Emma ignored White’s offer of assistance and instead drank from her water bottle, closed her eyes for a second, then said, “Yes, we can talk. But I want to see her. Can I see her?”

“We’ll gather her remains, and the ME’s office will take them to the morgue. I think that’s a better place for you to… see her.”

“No,” Emma said, her voice rising. “I want to see my sister.”

White used his church voice again. “We don’t even know if that is your sister. The ME will figure all that out. For now, why don’t you talk to me? I could use all the help I can get.”

Emma’s lower lip trembled. “Help you? What makes you think I can help you? I couldn’t help her.” Her gaze was fixed on the men looking down at that black garbage bag.

“Let’s go to my car,” White said. “We can talk there.”

“I’ve already told you everything,” I said. “Can’t you see how upset she is?”

“I do see,” White said. “And I understand. But I need the story directly from Ms. Lopez.” He bent and cupped Emma’s elbow, helping her up.

“Can Abby come with me?” she said.

White’s tone was less pleasant when he said, “We can do this alone, can’t we? I mean, I want to help you and-”

“But I need her with me.” She stared at White with those intense eyes.

His shoulders finally sagged in agreement. “Sure, why not?”

“Thank you,” she replied.

They started down the sidewalk while I picked up her forgotten shoes.

A minute later, the three of us were enjoying the air-conditioned comfort of White’s unmarked car. Even the hum of the engine felt normal and nice, despite the presence of crime scene tape, hovering TV news choppers and the ever-growing crowd across the street.

Emma sat in front with White, and I was hunched forward in the backseat, my face inserted in the space between them.

“Can I call you Emma?” White asked.

“Please,” she said, her water bottle held tight between both hands.

“Emma, you got any clue how this little body got under your house?”

“A clue? I can tell you exactly what happened. My mother put the baby there.”

“You saw her do this?” White asked.

“No. But I’m sure that’s what happened. Since you’re a detective and Abby’s told you everything about me, you should have figured that out.”

Emma’s anger had resurfaced, and I could only imagine what was going through her head. Nothing reasonable, that was for certain.

I reached around and put my hand on hers, noting that the water bottle was as hot as the air outside. That was when I saw Stu and his camera through the tinted glass of the front passenger window.

“Can you make him go away, Don? I think that would make Emma more comfortable.” If I was Abby to him, he was Don to me.

“They won’t get nothin’.” White loosened his gold paisley tie. “This glass protects against bullets as well as other penetrations, if you know what I mean. Now, Emma, tell me again what year your mother had the baby and everything that happened afterward.”

It was her turn to go through the whole story, reiterating everything he’d heard from me already. This time, though, he had a laptop sitting on his bulky legs and took notes.

“And you haven’t heard from your mother for ten years? Not even a phone call?” White asked.

“No. She’s probably drinking herself to death somewhere,” Emma said.

“You had the city delay the demolition once,” White went on. “Tell me again why you asked for that.”

“Venture would take over my life once the house was torn down. I thought that if I delayed the demolition, I’d have time to get out of the contract,” Emma said.

“Not that I watch the show all that much, but they’re giving you a new house and a bunch of cash and gifts, right?” He feigned surprise. “Who in their right mind would give up major freebies?”

Emma sighed. “When I signed the contract, I had no idea they knew about my missing sister. The world doesn’t need to know every detail of my mother’s sorry life. I mean, what if my sister watched that show? Found out about her mother that way?” She drummed her fingers on the bottle and looked out the window.

“See, that’s where I’m confused,” White said. “Venture may have known plenty, but why would they want to air much about your mother? From what I know-through the wife, of course-this is a touchy-feely show about making people smile.”

“I got the impression during my last meeting with Mr. Mayo that my sister’s disappearance would up the sympathy factor when the show aired, and her disappearance would be mentioned,” Emma said. “Erwin Mayo put on a good show before I signed on, but he got downright spiteful when I asked him not to air anything about my missing sister.”

“But they never said for sure they’d use this information?”

“I’ve only seen the show for the first time recently, but anything they can use to make the life-makeover candidates appear pitiful is apparently standard operating procedure,” Emma said.

“What about your mother? This Mayo guy indicated he’d be checking into her disappearance?” White was typing away as he asked the question.

“I don’t think so. She abandoned her kids, made a baby go away, and that was enough. He seemed far more interested in the missing baby.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Maybe he wanted you guys to be reunited on TV.”

Emma turned quickly and stared at me. “Oh, my God. That’s why he was so evasive.”

“What’s more heartwarming than a surprise TV reunion?” I said.

Emma was squeezing the bottle now, her knuckles white with the pressure. “He was going to spring this on us? With no warning?”

“Makes for great TV drama,” I said.

“That would be so wrong, at least for us. We would want a private reunion. But that’s not going to happen now, is it?”