Hannah drives a white 5-series BMW, but I don’t see it.

Bearing right, toward the main entrance of the field office, I watch the lines of parked cars. Sure enough, Hannah’s white Beemer backs out of a space not far away, then pulls forward and stops beside me. Her window is open. Glancing over the roofs of the parked cars, I see the guard house at the main gate. I don’t know whether the guard is watching me, but he’s not going to let me ride out with Hannah without checking upstairs first.

“Did you open your trunk?” I ask her through the window.

“Yes, but I’m afraid you’ll suffocate.”

I walk to the back of her car and lift the trunk lid as though retrieving something. Then I take a deep breath, climb into the small space, fold myself almost double, and close the trunk lid over my head.

I have a few mental problems, but claustrophobia isn’t one of them. I wouldn’t be much of a free diver if I couldn’t stand being closed into small spaces. People don’t think of the ocean as a small space, but when you’re three hundred feet beneath it, with cold water trying to crush you into jelly, you feel pretty closed in.

Hannah has stopped at the gate.

Shutting my eyes in the dark, I send my mind to its secret haven, the bright coral wall where I dive and dive until the blue turns black, and rapture blurs my sense of separation from the water until my mind takes in the whole of creation. If the guard discovers me in this trunk, it won’t be because he sensed my presence.

I’m not even here.

The BMW jerks forward, pulling me out of my trance. After a couple of bumps, we’re rolling along at a good clip. With each stop, I’m sure Hannah is going to get out and free me from the trunk, but she doesn’t. For one irrational moment I’m terrified she’s going to turn me over to the NOPD, but that’s crazy. She’s just finding a safe place to let me out.

At last the car stops and doesn’t start again.

I hear her door open and close. Then the trunk lid pops open, and sunlight spears my retinas. A backlit silhouette takes my hand and helps me out of the trunk. The ligaments in my knees creak like horsehair ropes as I unfold them.

“You are really something,” Hannah says. “I feel like Ingrid Bergman.”

We’re not at the airport. We’re in the parking lot of a small, upscale shopping center. I’ve been here a few times, shopping for clothes.

Hannah notices my concern. “You’ll attract a lot less attention here than at Lakefront Airport. That’s not a busy place.” She stuffs some paper into my hand. “That’s eighty dollars. Call a cab at the last minute to take you to the airport. It’s less than ten minutes away.”

I hug her hard, then pull away. “Get out of here, Ingrid. You’ve done enough already.”

Hannah takes my right hand in both of hers and squeezes tight. “You’re close to finding out the truth, Cat. But don’t expect a blinding flash of insight, or instant peace. In cases like yours, getting the true facts is only the beginning. Many sexual abuse survivors never get the kind of resolution they’re looking for.”

“I’ve been lost for a long time, Hannah. A beginning sounds pretty good to me.”

She smiles sadly, then gets into her car and drives away. I look down at my watch and wonder if Michael is airborne yet.

I need to find a pay phone.

I’m five thousand feet over the Mississippi River, flying north at two hundred miles per hour. Michael Wells is beside me, piloting his Cessna as if he’d rather be doing this than anything else in the world. Natchez is thirty minutes ahead.

The shocks of the past twenty-four hours have pushed me to the point that fl;ight in a small plane produces no airsickness at all.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks, his face somber.

“What I should have done in the beginning. Find out who killed my father. I’m going to exhume his body.”

Michael looks at me like I’ve taken leave of my senses. “What will you learn from that?”

“For one thing, it will give me DNA to compare against any body fluids I find on my bedroom floor. I’m hoping I’ll find preserved semen.”

“Are you going to work the bedroom yourself?”

“No. I’m going to bring in a first-string team to do it, no matter what my grandfather says. I’m also going into the barn to see if my father’s green bag is still under the floor. It’s padlocked, but I shouldn’t have much trouble breaking in.”

“Do you think that green bag really exists?”

“Absolutely.”

“Technically the barn is Kirkland’s property, isn’t it?”

“I’m not sure, actually. Some of the old DeSalle holdings are held in trust for me. I don’t really know what Grandpapa owns and what he manages for my mother and me. It’s very complicated. But if he tries to stop me, I’ll go to the DA and make it an official murder investigation. It’s not my father’s body I really want, though. It’s Lena.”

Michael looks away from the Plexiglas windscreen long enough for me to see his confusion. “Your stuffed leopard?”

“Leopardess. I don’t know what she’ll tell me, but I know she’s important. May I use your cell phone?”

He unclips it from his belt and hands it to me. My pride tells me not to do what I’m about to do, but I have no choice. I dial Sean Regan’s cell number.

“Detective Sergeant Regan,” he says.

“It’s Cat.”

“Jesus. They’ve got a statewide manhunt going for you, and you call my cell phone?”

“Sorry to be an inconvenience.”

“Shit, it’s not that. But Karen wants to see copies of my cell phone bill from now on. I’m sure Piazza will be reviewing it, too.”

So, the women in Sean’s life finally got wise to him. “Well, I’m sorry. This is a business call.”

“Somehow I knew that.”

“I need you to do me a favor, Sean, no questions asked.”

“What favor?”

“That sounded like a question.”

In the silence that follows, I sense him remembering what it’s like to deal with me on a daily basis. “Okay, Cat. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

“Thanks. You know my aunt committed suicide last night?”

“I heard. I’m sorry.”

“There’s going to be an autopsy today in Jackson, Mississippi. Kaiser’s expediting it. I need to see that report, or at least know what the findings are.”

“Didn’t Kaiser tell you I’ve been suspended from the department?”

“Yes, but I know you’re still wired into the task force. Like knowing my aunt committed suicide. You’re already angling for a way back into this case. And if you help me, I might be able to give you one.”

More silence. “You need an actual copy of the autopsy report?”

“Whatever you can get. I’m particularly interested in anything the pathologist finds out about Ann’s reproductive organs. Scarring, old operations, anything like that.”

“Uh-huh.” Sean sounds anything but excited.

“I need this as fast as you can get it. Like yesterday.”

“I can’t give you what I don’t have yet.”

“I know. I just want you to understand-”

“Cat?”

“What?” I snap, realizing I’m trying to avoid any personal conversation whatever.

“How are you doing? I mean with the baby and all.”

Anger surges up from a well deep within me, darker and more intense than I could have imagined. “Fine,” I say in a taut voice. “You don’t need to worry about me. Us. Whatever. I’m not your problem anymore.”

“You never were a problem.”

Cut the cord, orders the voice in my head. “We both know that’s a lie. Lookgood luck piecing your life back together.”

“Yeah. Hey, I’ll get that report for you.”

“Thanks.”

“I miss you, Cat.”

Not badly enough. “Hurry, Sean.”

I hang up and punch in my mother’s cell phone number. As it rings, I feel Sean touch my arm. Then I realize it’s not Sean, but Michael Wells. For a moment I actually forgot I was sitting beside him in his plane.