Liska showed her ID. “Mrs. Gray? I’m Sergeant Liska. May I come in?”

Julia Gray stepped back from the door. She looked like she hadn’t eaten or slept in a week. Her blond hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She wore yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Her hands were red and chapped, fingernail polish ruined. The brace on her injured right hand was soaking wet. She rubbed one hand and then the other with a limp white cotton towel.

“I’m sorry,” Julia Gray said. “I was in the kitchen. I’m trying to keep busy. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sure it’s hard. I have two boys. I don’t know what I would do.”

Julia Gray just stared at her. Nikki could see the question in her eyes—Do you have news about my daughter?—and she could see the fear of asking that question too. If she asked, she might get an answer she didn’t want to hear.

“Can we sit down, Mrs. Gray?”

Julia Gray’s swollen eyes widened in alarm. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so. You should probably just go.”

Bad news was always preceded by Can we sit down? Or We need to talk. If they didn’t sit down, then she could go on thinking maybe her daughter would still be coming home. If they sat down, the bad news would come out, and there would be no escaping it.

“I have to ask you a couple of questions,” Nikki said, putting off the inevitable. Once she made the announcement, she would lose her opportunity to get the answers. “About when Penny broke her arm.”

“She fell off her bike.”

“Were you there when it happened?”

“No. She called me. She had her appointment with Michael that morning. She rode her bike over there. It’s not far. It was one of the first nice spring days. She was on her way home. And . . . and she fell. She was cutting through the park. She called me, and I called Michael. He was closer.”

“Why didn’t you take her to the emergency room?” Nikki asked.

She looked confused by the question. “We called Bob Iverson. His practice is nearby.”

“But it was a Saturday. He doesn’t normally work Saturday, does he?”

“No. But I know him. Michael knows him too. He came in.” Her eyes narrowed; confusion tugged across her brow. “I don’t understand why you’re asking me about this. He gave you the X-rays, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Nikki said. “It just seems a little unusual—the circumstances. And the fracture was an unusual fracture. The ME told me it’s the kind of break that happens from a twisting motion rather than a fall.”

“Well, she fell,” she insisted. Then she went very still as the letters ME penetrated. Her injured hand came up to massage her throat, as if she was suddenly having trouble swallowing. “What else did he have to say?”

Nikki sighed. “Please, Mrs. Gray,” she murmured, trying to direct her toward the living room with its still-decorated Christmas tree. “Let’s sit down.”

Julia Gray stiffened. “No.”

There was never any good way to do this, and it never got any easier no matter how many parents she had to disappoint. “The medical examiner has reviewed all the distinguishing marks and characteristics, along with the X-rays of your daughter’s wrist, and compared them with the young woman—”

“No!” Julia Gray said again, more emphatically this time. Not as if in denial, but as if she was getting angry because Nikki clearly wasn’t listening to her.

“There’s really no question, Mrs. Gray,” she said firmly. “Your daughter is deceased. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Penny Gray’s mother looked frantically around the foyer, looking for help or some hidden escape route. Nikki could feel the electric energy coming off her in waves. She began to tremble visibly, first her hands, then her shoulders, her whole body stiffening like she was going into a seizure. Her face was as white as chalk.

Nikki put a hand on her shoulder. “Please, sit down, Mrs. Gray.”

Julia Gray jerked back, eyes wild with pain. “Don’t touch me! Get out! Get out of my house!”

“Mrs. Gray, please try to calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” she shouted. “Get out of my house! Get out! Get out! Get out!”

Like an animal blind with fear and pain, she bolted forward, swinging wildly with her injured hand, striking Nikki hard on the left eyebrow, slicing open the skin.

As blood ran down into her field of vision, Nikki threw her hands up too late to ward off the attack. She stumbled backward into the door, banging the back of her head against it.

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” Julia screamed over and over, incoherent, half sobbing, arms flailing like a toddler in a tantrum.

As she swung one arm down, Nikki caught her by the wrist. She pulled the woman’s arm down between them and turned, stepping to the side and reversing their positions, putting Julia Gray’s back against the door, and pinning her there with a shoulder to the woman’s sternum.

Penny Gray’s mother struggled for just a moment, then went limp, the adrenaline-fueled strength draining from her like water down a drain.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” she mumbled, dissolving into tears. “I can’t believe this is happening! How can this be happening to me?”

“I’m sorry,” Nikki murmured, lessening the pressure, letting Julia Gray’s weight come more against her. She put her arms around the woman and just stood there, holding her—one mother offering comfort to another.

She wanted to tell Julia Gray that she would be all right, that eventually things would be okay, but it was a stupid thing to say, a completely empty, ridiculous promise to make. She knew that no matter what else happened in the coming days, no matter which way this case went, no matter who was responsible for the death of her daughter, Julia Gray would not be all right, and things would never be the same for her again.

31

“Dana Nolan, on special assignment, coming to you live from outside the residence of missing Minneapolis teenager Penelope Gray. Sources inside the Hennepin County Medical Examiner’s office are confirming that the New Year’s Eve murder victim known as Zombie Doe has been identified as the missing Performance Scholastic Institute student. An AMBER Alert was issued last night for the missing teen, whose mother made a public appeal for her return this morning along with Minneapolis Homicide captain Ullrich Kasselmann.

“No official statement has yet been made by the Minneapolis Police Department either confirming or denying the identification of Zombie Doe. Speculation has run rampant that Zombie Doe may in fact be yet another victim of the serial killer law enforcement has dubbed Doc Holiday, due to his penchant for committing his crimes on or around holidays.”

“Doug Irwin here, Dana.” The guy from the newsroom broke in. “There seems to be some activity going on there. Can you fill us in on what’s been happening in the past few minutes?”

“Yes, Doug. One of the homicide detectives working the case was just seen arriving here at the residence and going into the home, presumably to convey some information to Julia Gray. I’ll be coming to you live for NewsWatch with any breaking information as things develop. Until then, back to you at the studio, Doug.”

Fitz smiled, almost like a proud uncle. He felt a connection to Dana Nolan that truly did border on familial. He had handpicked her, after all, like one of his flea market finds. She was a little diamond just waiting for polish and the perfect setting.

He was so pleased he had chosen her, especially now that she was getting an extra opportunity to make a name for herself by covering this case. There was a wonderful poetry in that. He had chosen her because of her initial reporting of the story of Zombie Doe, the alleged “ninth victim.” Fate was allowing her to rise to the attention of the audience because of the ninth victim. And her greatest fame would ultimately come in being a victim. What a beautiful irony. It filled him with pride to be the architect of this story.