Oh, great, Olivia thought. They’re going to believe this even less. “We are very sorry for your loss, ma’am. The medical examiner has no reason to lie.”

Mrs. Fischer flinched slightly. “I didn’t say he lied. He made a mistake. My son was not some druggie. He was a good boy. With a good family.” Her voice broke and tears rolled down her cheeks. “He was the champion of causes, not some junkie.”

“What kind of causes, Mrs. Fischer?” Olivia asked gently.

“All kinds. He raised money for AIDS-ten thousand dollars in his senior year of high school. All by himself. We said we’d give him the money, but he said he wanted to raise it himself. He worked for charities. He volunteered in Temple.” She was sobbing. “He wanted to make the world a better place and I won’t let you tear him down.”

Her husband gathered her close and frowned at them. “You have to leave.”

“Not yet,” Olivia said soothingly. “Please, try to listen to me. I need your help.”

“With what?” Mr. Fischer snapped as his wife tried to stifle her sobs.

“Sir, was your son involved in any on-campus groups? Clubs?”

“No.” Mr. Fischer looked confused. “Why?”

“Did he ever talk about wanting to save animals, wetlands, the environment?”

“Of course.” Mr. Fischer was patting his wife’s shuddering back. “He cared about all those things. Why?” he repeated, more suspiciously.

“The thing the medical examiner found was lung damage to your son’s airways. He’d been in a building fire. Recently. Within twelve hours of his death.”

There was a moment of tense silence, then Mrs. Fischer pulled away from her husband, her eyes now wide, horrified, and angry. “He was not. I know what you’re saying, that he somehow started that fire that’s been in the news. Where that girl died. But he didn’t. He was not in a fire.”

Olivia stayed calm. “Yes, ma’am, he was. The medical examiner wanted to be very sure. He tested Joel’s blood and found traces of cyanide. That happens when someone breathes in burning plastic, as in a structural fire. We’d like to understand what happened. Did Joel seem upset Monday morning?”

Mrs. Fischer was shaking her head. “He was not in a fire. He was here. With us.”

“All night?” Olivia asked.

Mrs. Fischer’s chin lifted again. “All night,” she insisted.

But Mr. Fischer’s eyes had skirted away.

“Is that right, Mr. Fischer?” Olivia asked quietly.

“Yes,” he said. But it wasn’t a firm reply.

Olivia glanced at the rabbi, who now looked more worried than affronted. “Would it be all right if we looked in Joel’s room?” she asked.

“Leave,” Mr. Fischer demanded. “Or I’ll report you for harassment.”

Olivia and Kane stood. “My partner has been very patient with you, sir,” Kane said sternly. “Denying the facts will not change them.”

“If he set that fire in the condo, we’ll get to the bottom of it,” Olivia said, still quietly. “I can’t begin to understand what you’re feeling, but if it were my son, I’d want to know. We will find out, with or without your help.”

“A girl died in that fire,” Mr. Fischer said unsteadily. “You want our help pinning her death on our son? What do we look like to you?”

Olivia glanced at the rabbi, then turned to look at the mirrors covered with black scarves, the low stools set to the side in preparation for shiva. “You look like people who would do the right thing. The moral thing.” She let the comment stand for a moment. “Last night I stood beside the father of the girl who died while he identified his daughter’s body. He cried, too. He wants answers and I will get them for him.”

“We will be back,” Kane promised. “With a warrant if necessary.”

“You said your son was a good boy,” Olivia said. “A good man. It’s possible he started out wanting to do the right thing and it got away from him.” Uncertainty shadowed both Fischers’ faces and Olivia knew she’d hit a nerve. “Were he here, I’m sure he’d want to do the right thing. Do Teshuva.”

Mr. Fischer met her eyes. “But he’s not here.”

“But you are,” Olivia said with a sad smile. “You’ve spent your life following the law, honoring the Talmud. If your son were a child and did a sin, you’d be guiding him through the steps of Teshuva right now. Admit he’s wrong, ask forgiveness. Make amends. He can’t do that, but you can. Let us look at his room. We need to find out what happened-for the girl who died, for Joel, and for your family.”

Mr. Fischer appeared to be wavering. “But the guard. He was shot.”

“The medical examiner checked for traces of gunshot residue on Joel’s hands, but found none,” Kane said, his tone a shade gentler. They’d honed their partner rhythm well. “It doesn’t appear Joel fired a weapon.”

“The medical examiner also found evidence that Joel was struck in the head with a blunt instrument. He might not have known…” A detail clicked in her mind. Two sets of prints leaving the condo, only one at the fence. Her own voice echoed in her mind, in response to Donahue’s profile of the arsonists. Different agendas.

“He might not have known what?” Mrs. Fischer asked, her voice strained.

“He might not have known what the others had planned,” Olivia said.

Mr. Fischer paled. “Joel would never kill. Not on purpose. I know my son.”

“But you don’t know what he actually did. It’ll be worse, not knowing,” Olivia said. “Please. We need to see his room.”

Mr. Fischer looked at his rabbi. Rabbi Hirschfield shrugged. “It’s your choice.”

“And if it were your son?” Mrs. Fischer asked him, crying again.

Hirschfield’s shoulders sagged. “Then, God help me, I would hope I’d say yes.”

Mr. Fischer let out a long breath. “All right. You can look.”

Olivia met his eyes. “Thank you. We’ll try to be quick.”

Tuesday, September 21, 7:30 p.m.

Hi, Tom.” It was squealed by two pretty college girls outside the university gym, where David and Glenn had found David’s nephew Tom finishing basketball practice. Glenn’s head turned as he watched the girls’ heart-arresting, hip-swinging departure.

“Put your eyes back in your head, old man,” David said, amused. “I don’t carry a defib around on my back, you know.”

“Youth is wasted on the young,” Glenn grumbled and Tom chuckled.

“Sorry about that,” Tom said. “Let’s get away from the gym. Draws the groupies.”

David knew Tom was aware of his star-athlete status, but he was relieved that his nephew tried to stay humble.

“I don’t know,” Glenn said. “I kind of like drawing the groupies.”

Tom’s grin flashed as he led them down a sidewalk toward his dorm. “Me too.”

“As long as you only look,” David advised, as he always did. “Don’t touch.”

“I know, I know,” Tom said. “I’m not stupid, David.”

“Never thought you were.” He’d met Tom when the boy was fourteen and terrified. His mother, Caroline, had gone missing and Evie had just been rushed to a Chicago hospital, fighting for her life. Tom’s biological father, a true monster, had found them after Tom and Caroline had successfully remained hidden for years. David’s older brother, Max, in love with Caroline, had saved the day and later adopted Tom, loving him as if he’d always been a Hunter. They all did.

What David always remembered most about those horrible hours when they feared Caroline dead was the almost unnatural maturity Tom maintained. When the adults around him were losing it, Tom stayed calm, focused. Since then, David had watched him grow into a young man who made the family proud.

They stopped at a picnic table and Tom perched on it, propping one of his huge feet on his basketball. “So, beyond ogling girls, what brings you two here?”

David sat on the table, Glenn on the bench. “We need a hacker,” David said baldly.

Tom laughed, then sobered. “You’re serious.”