“Detective Corning,” Lisa called, waving with one hand, a microphone held securely in the other.

Hank sighed. “I guess I should talk to Lisa.” He turned to Jake. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll need to get your statements later.”

“We’re right with you,” Jake said, glancing at Annie. They followed Hank over to where the reporter stood, her wide mouth cracked into a tight-lipped smile.

They’d had more than their share of run-ins with the pushy reporter before. Jake knew Lisa considered herself a world-class journalist, yet to come into her own. Jake knew otherwise. Her sensational stories often had a scandalous twist to them as she played fast and loose with the truth. He expected this time would be no different.

But even with all her shortcomings, Jake had to admit, the nosy reporter occasionally came up with something useful to an investigation—for a price, of course. Lisa did little that didn’t benefit her in some way.

“Good morning, Detective Corning,” Lisa said, leaning into the tape, her long nose raking the mike as she spoke.

Hank nodded politely. “Good morning.”

Lisa flashed a fake smile toward the Lincolns. Annie smiled back, her smile every bit as sincere as Lisa’s.

Don stood slightly back and off to one side, the red light on his camera already glowing. He would capture everything, and later, Lisa would sculpt it into something that suited her own aspirations. Her editing skills were designed to shock, and however immoral, she was good at what she did.

“Detective Corning,” Lisa began, her dark, painted eyes growing serious. “What can you tell the viewers about what happened here today?”

Hank took a deep breath and let it out slowly, giving himself time to form an answer. “A man was killed inside the school last night, and his body was discovered this morning.”

Lisa’s red lips flapped as she spoke. “Can you tell me who the victim was?”

Hank frowned. “You know better than that, Lisa. We can’t release that information until we’ve notified the next of kin.”

Lisa continued, unashamed. “Was he a teacher at this school?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you much right now. It was a homicide, and investigators are still going over the scene.”

Lisa persisted. “Is this related to the murder on Monday evening that took place at North Richmond High?”

“It’s too early in the investigation to tell yet.”

“As you know,” Lisa continued, “I’ve been continually broadcasting the face of Adam Thorburn, who’s wanted in that murder. And I’ll continue to do so until he’s found.”

“And we appreciate that, Lisa,” Hank said, avoiding her subtle hint. “But it’s too soon to draw any kind of connection between the two homicides.”

Jake saw Lisa’s mind at work as she wracked her brain to come up with another question. Then her eyes narrowed and she turned to Jake. “If this case isn’t related, then why is Lincoln Investigations here? I happen to know they’re looking into the murder of Nina White.”

Jake looked at Annie, who was shaking her head in disgust. She moved away, wandering toward the school. Jake grinned to himself. His wife didn’t have a lot of patience with Lisa Krunk. And truthfully, Jake didn’t either, but the camera was running, so he would be as polite as possible.

Hank turned to Lisa. “They’re here because they’re running a parallel investigation, and I can’t speak for them.”

Lisa swung the microphone toward Jake, the same question in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Jake said. “We have to respect the rights of our client and keep the reason for our involvement confidential.”

Lisa shook her head in frustration and turned back to Hank. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“A complete statement will be forthcoming to all members of the press in due time,” Hank said. “I have nothing else I can give you right now.”

Lisa caught Don’s eye and motioned toward the school. Don moved the camera away, walking around the perimeter. He would be getting whatever shots might help turn what little they knew into a short news story.

Lisa turned off the mike and flashed a polite smile. “Thank you, Detective,” she said and turned to Jake. “Thank you, Jake.”

Jake and Hank turned away and went to join Annie. She gave a weak smile as they approached. “I just didn’t have any patience for that woman today.”

“That’s understandable,” Hank said, shrugging. “I wouldn’t talk to her either if I didn’t need to.” He paused, glancing toward the school. “Right now I have to find the victim’s next of kin and make a visit.” He looked at his watch. “Can I meet you guys at the precinct in about an hour to get your statements?”

Annie nodded. “We have a few things to take care of this afternoon, but we can work that in first.”

“See you then,” Hank said. He turned, walked toward his vehicle, and disappeared inside.

Jake turned to Annie. “It looks like we’re going to have a busy day.”

“That’s fine by me,” Annie said. “As long as it leads us closer to Adam Thorburn.”

Chapter 21

Wednesday, 10:31 a.m.

HANK ALREADY had Raymond Ronson’s address from his driver’s license, but he wanted a little more information on the man before proceeding with the uncomfortable task he now faced. He gave Callaway a call and waited on the line while the cop looked up the information on Raymond Ronson.

He wondered if he would ever get used to being a homicide detective. Many years ago, he’d been taught never to get emotionally invested with the victims, just do his job and get on with it. But he’d never been able to do that. He took the murder of innocent victims personally, and he knew if he stopped caring, he wouldn’t be able to do his job effectively.

His heart sank when he heard the news from Callaway. Raymond Ronson had a wife. Her name was Eunice and she was sixty-seven years old. Probably married to the same man all of her life, and now the news was going to tear her apart.

“She lives at 827 Flamingo Pond Road,” Callaway continued. “No kids. No driver’s license registered in her name. I checked missing persons reports, and even though her husband never come home last night, she didn’t report it yet.”

“Thanks, Callaway,” Hank said. He hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and started the car, pulling from the lot. He knew exactly where he was headed, and knew the area well.

Fifteen minutes later, Hank turned onto an old winding road and descended into a valley. Flamingo Pond Road was in a picturesque part of the city, like a small, peaceful village secluded from the madness surrounding it. Flamingo Pond lay quietly at the heart of the community, with small houses on large lots in all directions. The waters of the pond sparkled in the midmorning sunlight, large, shady trees dotting the parklike area.

Number 827 was similar to the houses surrounding it. Set on a half acre of land, the century-old dwelling backed onto Flamingo Pond. Mature trees lined the driveway, with manicured dark green grass on all sides of the well-maintained house. Flowers bloomed in abundance along the front of the building, more in a handful of flowerbeds scattered throughout the property.

Hank pulled into the long driveway and stopped in front of the garage, painted white with dark gray trim to match the rest of the house. Raymond had taken loving care of the entire property, and Hank wondered what would happen to the maintenance of this beautiful little place now.

He grabbed his briefcase from the passenger seat, climbed wearily from the vehicle, and walked up the flagstone walkway to the large front verandah. He hesitated a moment, his hand on the brass knocker, and then clanked it three times and waited.

In a few moments, the door swung inward and a little woman stood in the doorway. Not more than five foot two, with beautiful gray hair, a slightly rounded face, and a pleasantly plump build, she was the picture of everyone’s grandmother.