“I’m afraid not. Like I told the doc here, there’s a bunch of evidence that’s been collected, and the state boys are running the show now. Your friend’s been through a lot. Good fellow. I can see he’s been a fine cop.”

“He still is. I doubt this will derail Fitz at all.” Her tone was sharper than she intended, and she felt bad when Nadis declined his head in apology.

“Of course he still is. I didn’t mean that. Sorry.”

She shrugged it away. There were more important things to deal with. “How did he come to be here, in Nags Head?”

“We found him yesterday morning, early, wandering on the side of the road in his skivvies. Face was cut up. He couldn’t tell us how he’d gotten there.”

Baldwin interjected, “We assume they dropped him after they killed Susie. When the harbormaster found the boat, she’d been dead at least forty-eight hours, maybe more.”

Jesus.

Nadis rocked back in his chair. “A couple of agents from the west branch of the SBI found his eye earlier in the week, in that trailer near Asheville. It’s not a quick drive, over seven hours. His captor, or captors, would have had plenty of time to get him here. He was probably drugged.”

“Or he’s been here in Nags Head the whole time, on the boat. They found his eye four days ago. I wonder if the suspect just delivered the eye to Asheville to throw us off the trail,” Taylor said.

Nadis looked at her with new appreciation. “Now that you mention it, that does make more sense. Sergeant Fitzgerald was pretty nonsensical when we found him. We took him to the hospital, got him cleaned up. He couldn’t tell us much about what had happened, just his name and his badge number. He was in shock, of course. But we’d seen the alerts, called up to the FBI. Dr. Baldwin got on a plane down here, the SBI coots showed up first thing this morning, and Bob’s your uncle. That’s all we got right now.”

“Why didn’t y’all keep him in the hospital?”

“I figured you’d ask—our hospital is kind of small, and there was a food poisoning outbreak last night. They needed the bed, he was stable, so we brought him here.”

Taylor didn’t realize she was tapping her fingers on the side of her cup until Baldwin set his coffee down on the chief’s desk. “I know Lieutenant Jackson would like to see her sergeant. Can we make that happen?”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Nadis glanced at his watch. “Those SBI folks have been going at him for a couple of hours now. He’s probably ready for a break. But, Lieutenant, I need to warn you. He’s seen a lot the past few days, been through a lot. You may want to—”

“Chief, no offense, but Fitz is like a father to me. I won’t push him. But I would like to see him. If you wouldn’t mind?”

“Okay.” Nadis stood and gestured for them to follow him. The hallway seemed to go on forever, and led to a steel door. Nadis knocked twice as a warning, then inputted his code into a numbered lock, explaining as he did. “This is a secure area, we usually use it to let some of the local yahoos sleep off their buzz. We don’t have a jail, per se, here in the building, just holding cells, so this works for our needs. The corrections facility is a mile down the road.”

The door clicked open, and he led them through. A woman stood on the other side, staring into a window with her arms crossed on her chest. She was about five foot four, trim and athletic, with bushy brown hair tied back from her face. Her black suit was well made, and Taylor could see the bulge of a shoulder holster under her left arm.

She turned and saw the entourage, stepped away and introduced herself.

“You must be the sergeant’s lieutenant. I’m Renee Sansom, SBI. Hey, Dr. Baldwin. My boys are in with your guy right now. You want to see him?”

Taylor shook Sansom’s hand. “Yes, I would.”

“He’s been through a lot,” the woman said simply, then knocked on the window. Taylor knew it was a one-way mirror, acrylic, unbreakable, but for some reason avoided looking into the room. It seemed impolite to stare at him when he couldn’t see her. And with so many warnings on Fitz’s condition, she was starting to worry about him even more.

The door opened and two men stepped out, blue suited, wearing red-and-white striped ties. Two of a kind. They nodded professionally and the second one held the door open for her.

Taylor took a deep breath and entered.

Fitz had shrunk since she’d seen him last. He’d lost weight, his shoulders were hunched together. He seemed to be folded in on himself, protecting the kernel of pain that was driving him. Taylor knew he must be exhausted, and that hurt her as much as his obvious grief.

He turned as she entered. The left side of his face was covered with a large white pressure bandage, the skin of his cheek tinged with the yellow of Betadine, the iodine base discoloring the flesh around the dressing. But his remaining eye, round and dark blue, lit up when he saw her.

“Good to see you, little girl,” he said gruffly, and she heard the tears in his voice.

And then she had her arms around him, holding on for dear life.

Three

Nashville, Tennessee

Colleen Keck typed in the blog title, her fingers moving quickly.

No Clues in the Hunt for a Missing Nashville Teen

She looked it over for errors, saw none. Good. Catchy. She took a sip of her Diet Coke, then started the entry, her fingers flying over the keys.

Nashville is still reeling from the horrific Halloween massacre last week, when eight teenagers were viciously murdered in Green Hills on Halloween afternoon. As the burials begin, more frightening news is leaking out: a seventeen-year-old varsity athlete from Montgomery Bell Academy has gone missing. Peter Schechter, a junior defensive end for the MBA football team and the lacrosse team co-captain, did not make it to a morning practice the day after Halloween and has not been heard from since.

His vehicle, a silver 2006 BMW 5 series, was found Saturday morning in the parking lot of the McDonald’s in West End. His parents, Winifred and Peter Schechter, Sr., report that their son was responsible, hardworking and very settled in his routine. “It is completely out of character for Pete not to check in. He’s religious about it. We’re very close,” said a tearful Mrs. Schechter.

Schechter’s friends confirm that they were downtown, on Lower Broad, attending an eighteen-and-over Halloween night party at the bar Subversion, though no one remembers driving him back to his car. “We just assumed he’d left with someone,” said Brad Sandford, a friend and fellow ballplayer. “We went home without him.”

The police do not believe that Schechter left of his own volition, though they will not release details. He is not answering his cell phone, and no texts have been sent from his number. A source close to the investigation who has asked not to be identified confirms the police suspect foul play. An AMBER Alert is in effect, and a search is being organized. If you know anything about the whereabouts of Peter Schechter, please call 866-555-2010. All tips can be left anonymously.

Humbly submitted,

Felon E

Colleen read through her piece one more time, corrected a comma splice, and published the story. It automatically fed into her Twitter feed; she watched TweetDeck as the message went viral through the community, her hundreds of thousands of followers dutifully spreading the word that a new blog post had been published. She cracked her knuckles and allowed herself a small smile.