So far all the kids she’d talked to in this case fell along the clique lines-the good kids, the athletes and high achievers-were pleasant, easy to deal with, cooperative. Probably lying through their teeth to save their own asses, but at least they were respectful about it. The bad seeds were living up to their reputation as well-Juri and Susan were nasty, ill-tempered children.

The exception to all of them was Theo Ho well. The clean-cut kid, holding his friends’ drugs to keep them safe. He was due into their offices at noon today. McKenzie told her Theo’s parents were back in the country, would be accompanying their son. She wondered what he was hiding. Self-preservation taken into account, he’d been a little too forthcoming. Was he truly the good kid as he depicted himself, or was there a dark side, a silent specter of the truth waiting to come out?

She pushed it all away. The Atilio house looked deserted. A two-story, it was tan brick with powder-blue shutters, a terrible combination. Taylor stepped out of the car, stared up at the windows. Was this it, then? Would this girl be the key?

She went up the five stairs that led to the front door. She rang the bell, then stepped to the side. At her signal McKenzie and Parks took up positions to her right and left.

She could hear footsteps. She touched her Glock briefly, unlatching the snap so she could unsheathe it from its holster quickly if needed. The door swung open. A sultry voice rang out.

“Silly, why didn’t you use your key?”

Taylor stepped into line of sight to the door. A young girl stood there, mussed, hair askew, half-dressed in a bustier and skirt. Long black hair. Green eyes. Their girl.

“Who are you?” she asked with such a note of horror Taylor nearly laughed out loud. She bit her lip and said, “Fane Atilio?”

The girl straightened-she was eye to eye with Taylor.

“Who’s asking?”

“Lieutenant Jackson, Metro Homicide. I -“

She didn’t get to finish. The girl started to slam the door, face full of panic.

Taylor got the toe of her boot into the crack just in time, but paid the price. She’d have a bruise for a month on the arch of her foot after that.

“Ouch!” she shouted, shouldering the door open. “Stop right there, Fane.”

Not surprisingly, the girl didn’t listen. She bolted up the stairs, her long legs moving gracefully. Taylor took off after her, heard a door slam.

She made it to the top of the stairs just in time to see the wood still quivering. She tried the knob, it was locked.

“Come out of your room, Fane. Right now. Unlock this door,” Taylor yelled. There was no sound from within. Parks and McKenzie had caught up to her now. Parks whispered, “We’re clear.” Taylor nodded, then said, “Fane, Fll force it if you don’t open the door. You have three seconds. Three, two, one.’”

Nothing. Taylor stepped back, kicked the door open. It swung back and smashed into the wall, rebounding nearly closed again. Taylor pushed it open with her left hand, Glock pointing into the room.

Fane Atilio was trying to go out the window, one leg over the sill and an arm in a tree outside, calculating the drop. Taylor holstered her weapon, crossed the room in three strides and grabbed the girl by the wrist.

“Stop that. Get back in here right now.” She half dragged the girl away from the window. Though thin, she was still heavy. She collapsed onto the floor and refused to look up, a low, keening moan escaping her lips. Taylor nudged her with the toe of her boot.

“Get some clothes on. We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Fane said. She looked up at Taylor, eyes haughty behind their makeup.

“Oh, really? Well, just you wait and see, little girl. Because I think you have more to tell me than you can possibly imagine.”

Forty-Two

Taylor took the struggling girl to the Criminal Justice Center, read her Miranda warning, snapped a Polaroid of her and threw her into an interrogation room. Ariadne had identified Fane instantaneously when the six-pack was put together.

Taylor tried to look at the bright side of things. They had a positive ID on two women, a drug dealer with a chunk out of his leg and a missing teenage boy, possibly the mastermind behind the whole shebang. The Specialized Investigative Unit had confirmed that Barent Johnson was making methamphetamine and Ecstasy, so they had their drugs covered. How they all fit together-that was something she was still working on.

Ariadne insisted that Juri Edvin was not the boy she’d seen at Subversion. Her drawing of Fane Atil io was right on the money, both with and without the makeup. So maybe she was right about this mysterious fourth.

Regardless, Fane Atilio was not cooperating. It was getting close to dusk, the day bleeding away. Taylor was hungry and getting frustrated.

She took a deep breath, tried again.

“Fane. Where are your parents?”

Nothing.

“Fane, where were you on Halloween?”

Blank, soulless stares that never met Taylor’s eyes. Nothing.

“Fane, your boyfriend. What’s his name?”

They continued in this vein for a good thirty minutes before Taylor finally got huffy, stood and left the room.

McKenzie was in the video-feed room, watching.

“Stubborn brat,” Taylor said.

“She is at that. But a true believer. Want me to have a go at her?”

“Sure, Why not. I’m getting nothing. She’s giving me the creeps, really. How do these girls get so much attitude?”

“You didn’t have attitude when you were fifteen?”

“All in a good way-not like this,” she said, but blushed. He was right, she’d been just as sullen and noncooperative when she’d gotten picked up for underage drinking when she was thirteen. She wasn’t the one doing the drinking at the time, it was the friends she was with. The patrol officer who arrested her friends believed her. That cop had been Fitz, and he’d let her off with a warning. He’d treated her with respect, actually listened to her when she said she wasn’t involved. She’d been struck by the fairness of his actions, and it had started her thinking. The next thing she knew, she was obsessed with becoming a cop, with being fair and just. She’d not seen such actions before, and she liked it.

“You okay?” he asked.

She dragged herself back to the present, forcing the vision of Fitz’s eye sitting on a table in North Carolina out of her head.

“Yeah, fine.”

He looked at her sideways, but she busied herself with her ponytail until he said, “Lincoln got a warrant for Fane’s phone and laptop. He’s getting ready to delve into that. Ariadne ID’d her, right? That should be solid enough to start.”

“Yes. Though I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to going to the A.D.A. with this testimony.”

“LT, she’s credible, no matter what her beliefs. You won’t have any trouble there. I just saw Theo Howell and a couple who I assume are his parents. They’re waiting on you.”

“I’ll stick here for a few minutes, if that’s okay. I’d like to see you work your magic.” He smiled at her. “Your foot okay?”

“It’s a bit sore, I’ll live.”

“Good. Here goes nothing.” He went into the interrogation room.

When McKenzie walked into the room, Fane Atilio sat straight up in her chair, eyes wide. Taylor watched the tiniest bit of a smile curve her lips upward, and then she got it. Fane glanced at the door, saw no one else was coming through it and promptly began to cry. She looked like a wounded kitten, eyes moist and round, the long black lashes filling with salty dew. She cried prettily, demure and low, with glances up now and again to judge the effect.