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“I don’t know,” I say, sorting through the papers. They give some background information about the home and the services it provides as well as some important moments in its history. I pause on one of the pictures. “I need you to do a little more poking around forme.”
“What do youneed?”
“Have you ever heard of the band ‘What Now?’”
“Yeah. A couple of their songs are on the radio,” Deansays.
“Good. I need you to find out their record label and figure out how to get in touch with them. I need to know when their first demo tape was made and where it was handedout.”
Dean needs some extra sleep before he takes the long drive back to Harlan, so he’s still in bed the next morning when Sam and I are getting ready to leave for Cherry Hill. I go into the kitchen to get the coffee going and grab a quick bite to find Xavier sitting at the table reading the back of a fresh box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. He has a glass bowl in front of him filled to the brim with cereal and an orange sitting beside him. He’s not going to eat it. Like the coffee on the other side, it’s there purely to make a complete breakfast.
I point to the cup of coffee, and he nudges it toward me.
“Learning anything interesting?” I ask, taking a sip of the coffee as I head for the pantry to see what’s there.
“Nope,” hesays.
“Great. Goodtalk.”
I’m not in the mood for un-educational cereal, so I go to the refrigerator and pull out a plastic-wrapped package of leftover pastry from when I made pot pie a couple days ago. I need to use it up, so I might as well make something for breakfast that will actually fill us up and sustain us for what I have a feeling is going to be an intenseday.
Sam was still groaning and trying to will himself out of bed when I left the bedroom, so I know I have at least the amount of time it will take for him to get up, take a shower, and get dressed. That’s right about enough time to roll out the dough, cook up some eggs with onions, peppers, mushrooms, and sausage, and bake them up into little breakfast pies to bring along with us. I’ll make a few extras to give to the guys for their drivehome.
When the pies are in the oven, I pour another cup of coffee and go into the living room to go over my notes. I hope today I’ll have what I need to go back to Mike, but I need to be patient. Until then, I’m planning on visiting Lisa. I want to talk to her again now that she’s had a couple of days to recover and think about what happened. Maybe she’ll remember new details or have more clarity about what she went through.
So far, canvassing the Barrett’s neighbors hasn’t provided anything valuable to the investigation. No one heard anything strange or saw anyone they didn’t recognize on Friday. Or at least they aren’t saying they did. Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for people not to be upfront in these situations. Something horrific has happened close to their home, breaking the sanctity and safety of their space, and hasn’t been found. They want to do anything they can to protect themselves, and they snap into wanting to protect themselves at all costs.
They don’t want to seem like they are a threat. They’re carrying secrets they don’t want to know, so they’ll stay silent and hope it keeps them safe.
I can understand the feeling behind it, but I wish they could understand what it does to the investigation. We need everything we can get right now. There’s so little to go on, such a faint trail to follow. Just one tiny hint could make all the difference.
Dean is still asleep and Xavier has finished his third bowl of cereal and seems satiated when Sam and I step out onto the front porch to leave. Xavier follows us to the door and leans out to wave.
“Emma?” he calls after me.
I stop and turn to face him. “Hmm?”
“Something I didn’t mention about Sisyphus,” he says.
“What about him?” Iask.
“The reason he’s pushing the boulder up the hill for eternity. Why Zeus gave him thatpunishment.”
“Alright,” Isay.
“He cheated death. Twice.”
Lisa is already at the police station when we get there. She’s waiting with her mother in one of the interview rooms, holding a cup of coffee. It looks less like she’s been drinking it and more like it’s there for something to do with her hands.
“Good morning,” I say as I walk in. “Thank you for coming in. I hope you haven’t been waiting toolong.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Just a fewminutes.”
“Good.” I sit down across from them and pull out a legal pad and pen to take notes. “How are you feeling? You look muchbetter.”
“I’m doing okay,” she replies. She still seems a little meek, but there’s a determination in her eyes that wasn’t there before. “It’s still a lot to wrap my headaround.”
“I know. And I really do appreciate you being willing to talk to me again. I know it’s hard, but it’s so important,” Isay.
