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Obediently Sarina set the tray on the glass coffee table, then found a seat in an old rocking chair positioned near the fireplace where a huge picture of their family was propped on the mantel. It had been taken about ten years earlier, when Ryan was about six, maybe seven, and blonder Zach around four. Denny and Sarina stood behind the boys, both smiling brightly, not knowing how their future would play out.
Sarina caught Regan looking at the picture. “I know,” she said. “I just haven’t had the heart to take it down.”
“Do it.” Collette picked up her glass. “The sooner the better.”
“See how heartless she is?” Sarina appealed to Regan.
“I agree with her.”
Sarina, rocking in the chair, sighed. “Of course you do.”
“Tell us what you know,” Collette said, effectively changing the subject.
Regan said, “I ID-ed the bodies, as you know. Brindel and Paul were both shot once, in the head.”
Sarina clasped her hand to her mouth while Collette sent Regan a sharp, “be-careful-here” glare, and Regan reminded herself that her sisters weren’t used to a “just the facts” discussion, so she dialed it back and was more careful as she explained about visiting the morgue, talking with Paterno, and walking through the Lathams’ house.
Sarina ignored her drink and used a cocktail napkin to dab at her eyes. “Have they found Ivy? Have any idea where she is?” she asked.
“No, at least not that I’m aware of. But they’re looking for her and I’ll file an official missing persons report now.”
“Hasn’t that already been done?” Collette scowled.
Regan shook her head. “Enough time hadn’t elapsed and there was the chance that she’d be found with a friend or something. As far as I know, that hasn’t happened.”
“Oh, that’s not good,” Sarina said, and her hand shook as she picked up her glass.
The doorbell chimed and Sarina glanced up sharply, nearly spilling her drink. “That must be Seth.”
“I’ll get it.” Collette was out of her chair and across the room in a flash. She opened the door and not one, but two twenty-ish men strode into the hallway. Both wore baggy jeans and hooded sweatshirts whose shoulders were discolored by raindrops.
“Macon,” Collette said, surprised, and Regan recognized him. At around six-two, Macon was the larger of Paul’s two sons, taller than his brother by a couple of inches and heavier by what seemed around twenty pounds. With messy dark hair that curled over his ears and a scrubby beard, he took in the living room with the three sisters, then let his gaze land directly on Regan.
He didn’t bother with a greeting. “You’re the cop, aren’t you?” Macon charged. “Brindel’s sister from . . .”
“Montana,” Seth supplied as he let his hood drop. His features were finer and sharper than his older brother’s, his resemblance to his father more noticeable.
Macon nodded. “Yeah. That’s right. Montana.”
Regan stood. “I’m Regan. Yes.”
“Good.”
Sarina said, “We didn’t know that you’d be here.”
“Surprise,” he said with more than a hint of sarcasm.
With Seth on his heels, Macon stepped into the living room, and Regan, not certain where this was going, felt herself tense. The scent of a recently smoked cigarette chased after him as he crossed the carpet to stand toe-to-toe with her, and, jaw set, eyes narrowed, said, “Since you’re with the cops, maybe you can tell me what the fuck is going on.”
Chapter 8
With Tanaka leading the way, Paterno stepped into the forensics lab. The working area, like so many parts of the department, was aging, the equipment a blend of old and new, half a dozen technicians and scientists working at tabl
es and desks while carefully and clinically attempting to ferret out the truth of crime scenes with collected evidence. The bright lights, muted sounds, and the smells of evidence-processing chemicals mingled with the acrid odor of some kind of disinfectant.
Gus Varga, a senior lab technician was huddled over a large comparison microscope resting on a counter. A heavyset man with thinning white hair and a bulbous nose, Gus was somewhere north of sixty and a firearms specialist who had been promoted over the life of his career and now ran the department. Even so, he wasn’t content to push papers in his office. Forever in his lab coat, he was a vital working part of the forensics department.
“Hey, Gus,” Paterno said.
