She stood there in front of the camera, so wide-eyed and earnest, her cheeks rosy with the cold. So young. So . . . wholesome. She didn’t understand what tragedy was. She didn’t know what it meant to feel real pain or experience true loss. She observed others and tried to guess what that must be like. Or she tried to relate her own small version of personal catastrophe to these incidents. Maybe she had lost a kitten as a little girl. Maybe an elderly grandparent had died.

She had so much to learn about genuine suffering.

And he would be the one to teach it to her.

Soon.

32

“When I told you to take up cage fighting, I was being sarcastic,” Kovac said, looking at his partner.

Her left brow was a red, swollen ledge. A couple of small stitches closed the cut Julia Gray had opened.

Liska made a face. “I guess I need to start joining Kyle at his kickboxing lessons.”

“Muay Thai,” Tippen said, striking a martial arts pose. “The deadly art of eight limbs.”

“Tinks is deadly enough with four,” Kovac said. “And that’s not counting her tongue.”

“Fuck you, Kojak.”

“And there it is.”

They had gathered again in the conference room. Someone had picked up Chinese takeout, and the boxes littered the long table. Kovac found the beef with broccoli and helped himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a real meal.

He looked at his partner. “So she just wigged out on you?”

“She was ready to snap when I got there. She saw bad news coming, and she didn’t want to hear it.”

“All her chickens are coming home to roost under a big media spotlight,” Kovac said. “Her daughter is missing. Her daughter is an embarrassment. Her daughter makes her look like a bad mother. Now her daughter is dead.”

“That’s not entirely fair,” Liska said. “You’ve never given birth. You can’t know what it’s like. You get this perfect little being, and then life happens, and suddenly you feel like you don’t have any control anymore. And you screw up and they screw up, but they’re still your kid. I don’t ever want to know what Julia Gray is feeling now. I’m sure she’s reliving every mistake she ever made.”

“No more do-overs,” Kovac said, wondering how much of a mess he would have made raising his kid if he’d gotten the chance. It was probably better not knowing.

He looked to one of his borrowed uniform cops, a burly kid named Adams. “What do the neighbors have to say?”

“We canvassed the neighborhood twice—first thing this morning and at the end of the day. Nobody saw anything out of the ordinary. Even the closest neighbors don’t have a clear view of the Grays’ driveway because of the way the house is situated. One close neighbor has a security camera on their garage that might catch some coming and going, but they’re out of town. The security company needs a release from the owners to give us access to the video. They’re working on that.

“Also, one of the neighbors had a New Year’s Eve party with a lot of cars parked on the street. That was the thing everyone remembered. No one could really recall the night before that.”

“Elwood, what about the girl’s Facebook friends?”

“I tracked down a few who live in the area. It seems they didn’t really know her that well. They said she came and hung out at a couple of coffeehouses they all frequent. They liked her poetry, but she’s a lot younger than most of them.”

“So she was building up those relationships that she didn’t really have to the kids at school to make it look like she was cool somewhere, if not with them,” Liska said.

Elwood nodded. “That’s how it looks. A couple of them let her sleep at their places when she was on the outs with her mother. But they’ve got alibis for New Year’s Eve.”

“I would rather come back in my next life as a sewer rat than have to be a teenager again,” she muttered.

Kovac set his plate aside and sighed. “And we’ve got no legit sightings of the girl’s car?”

“Do you know how many black Toyota Camrys there are in the Twin Cities?” one of the young detectives asked. “To say nothing of other makes that resemble the Toyota Camry. The majority of people don’t seem to know one car from another. We’ve got every agency available checking the tips. It’s not a needle in a haystack. It’s a needle in a pile of needles.”

The lack of progress was tiring. They were expending tremendous amounts of energy and manpower with no reward. As much as Kovac had wanted the opportunity to renew efforts on the rest of the Doc Holiday cases, the effort was spreading them too thin. He had detectives reviewing the old cases with new eyes, but now he would have preferred to have more attention on the case at hand. A cold case wouldn’t get any colder, but the window of opportunity on a fresh homicide was small.

The phrase be careful what you ask for kept playing through his head.

The blessing and the curse of the previous Doc Holiday cases had been in the fact that the victims were from other places, other states. Difficult to investigate, and yet without a great deal of complication from the victims’ family lives—at least on his end of the investigation.

If Doc had snatched Penny Gray, he could have done them all a favor by dumping her in Iowa.

Kasselmann stepped into the room—still looking crisp and together, wanting an update.

Calling on the energy induced by sodium and MSG, Kovac roused himself to go up to the whiteboard and conduct a proper review of what they had, what they didn’t have, what they wanted, and what they needed to do.

Bottom line: They had a whole lot of nothing that added up to a strong suspect.

The captain frowned and sighed. “Come see me in my office before you go, Sam.”

His frown deepened as he looked at Liska. “What happened to you?”

“The victim’s mother decided to kill the messenger,” she said.

“The Gray woman did that to you?”

“She’s stronger than she looks.”

“How about that?” Kovac asked when Kasselmann and most of the others had cleared out.

“How about what?” Liska busied herself clearing away the food cartons and paper plates.

“Julia Gray giving you that eye. You’ll be lucky if you don’t have a shiner tomorrow.”

“I’d probably lose it too, if I was in her place.”

“She hit you with her right hand?” he asked. “The one in the brace?”

“Yeah,” she said. “She wasn’t thinking clearly. Or maybe she wanted to feel physical pain too. You know? I’d rather hit my thumb with a hammer than feel emotional pain because of one of my kids.”

“Remind me to follow you home, then, and remove all the hammers from your house.”

She gave him the finger.

Kovac turned to Tippen and Elwood. “I don’t buy her story about falling on the ice. It’s too coincidental.”

Liska dumped the last of the trash in the garbage can. “I don’t buy the story about the girl falling off the bike, and the whole thing about the mom calling her doctor friend on a Saturday. Dr. Concierge setting a weird fracture instead of sending the kid to a specialist. That’s a malpractice suit waiting to happen. Why would he risk that?”

“What was the mother’s explanation?” Tippen asked.

“That the girl was on her way home from her therapy session with Michael Warner. She cut through some park, had an accident.”

“No witnesses,” Elwood said.

Liska shrugged.

Kovac scowled. “That’s funny. I asked Michael Warner about it. He didn’t say anything about having seen the girl the day that happened.”

“Julia made it sound like taking the girl to the doctor she used was a joint decision,” Liska said.

“That was back in the spring, right?” Elwood said. “She also told us a lot of her daughter’s rebellion developed over the summer.”