how, growing up, his house had had none of this stuff—the happy times or the photographs to show it off. The moments that he and his mom had had to share were nothing you wanted other people to see. Nothing you wanted to remember, either, for that matter.
He reached out and picked up one of the five-by-sevens. Cecilia was standing next to her father, her arm through his, her hand resting on the back of his.
She was mostly like her mom, only a little like her dad. But the lineage was clear.
“. . . cal ed home?” Reil y said.
Veck retuned in to the conversation.
“That’s right,” Mrs. Barten said. “She left around nine. I’d just had my foot operated on—hammertoes. . . .” For a moment, the woman appeared to ruminate, and he was wil ing to bet that she was thinking about how much she wanted to go back to the time where al she had to do was worry about the way her shoes fit.
And maybe she was blaming herself, too.
She shook her head and refocused. “I was pretty immobile. I’d given her the shopping list and . . . she cal ed from the store. She didn’t know whether I wanted green or red peppers. I wanted the red ones. I was making . . .” The tears came and were blinked away sharply. “Anyway, that was the last time anyone heard from her.”
Veck returned the photograph to the shelf. As he went to sit back down next to Heron, he frowned. The man was staring at the victim’s mother with the intensity of a film camera, like he was reading and recording every twitch of her eye and purse of her mouth as she spoke.
As Veck’s radar started pinging like crazy, it was unclear whether it was about the missing girl or her sad, lovely mother or this massive man who looked like he could start a fire with that hard, burning stare of his.
“If I can interject,” Veck said, “did she have any boyfriends?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Heron’s hands tighten on his thighs, cranking down tight.
“No. She had friends that were boys, of course, and a prom date here and there . . . nothing serious, though. At least, not that she told me—and she was general y open about her life.”
Those hands released abruptly.
“Do you have anything you want to ask,” Veck said to the agent.
There was a long stretch of silence. Just before it got truly awkward, the man said in a deep, low voice, “Mrs. Barten, I’m going to bring her home to you.
One way or another, I wil get her back for you.”
Veck recoiled, thinking, Shit, don’t go there, buddy. “Ah, what he means is—”
“It’s al right.” Mrs. Barten clasped the base of her throat. “I’m not fooling myself. I know that she’s . . . not with us anymore. A mother feels the cold in the heart. We just want to know what happened and . . . have a chance to lay her to rest properly.”
“You wil have her back. I swear it.”
Now Mrs. Barten choked up—and why wouldn’t she. The guy was like a warrior with the vengeance routine, more avenger than agent.
“Thank you . . . al of you.”
Veck discreetly checked his watch. “If you’l excuse me and my partner, we’re going to head over to the supermarket. The manager said he was leaving early today.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
Agent Heron helped Mrs. Barten up by taking her hand. “Would you mind if I take a look at her bedroom?”
“Sure—I’l lead you right up.” She turned to Veck and Reil y. “If you need to go now, you can always come back.”
“Thank you,” Reil y said. “We’l do that.”
“And we’l see ourselves out the door,” Veck murmured.
As Agent Heron and the victim’s mother hit the stairs, Veck paused in the front hal and watched them ascend together. A window on the landing above cast il umination on them, the shaft of sunlight hitting them both square on the face and acting as a beacon for their—
Wait a minute.
Veck glanced over into the living room . . . where the golden rays were pouring in from the west.
Impossible. You couldn’t get that
He reached out and picked up one of the five-by-sevens. Cecilia was standing next to her father, her arm through his, her hand resting on the back of his.
She was mostly like her mom, only a little like her dad. But the lineage was clear.
“. . . cal ed home?” Reil y said.
Veck retuned in to the conversation.
“That’s right,” Mrs. Barten said. “She left around nine. I’d just had my foot operated on—hammertoes. . . .” For a moment, the woman appeared to ruminate, and he was wil ing to bet that she was thinking about how much she wanted to go back to the time where al she had to do was worry about the way her shoes fit.
And maybe she was blaming herself, too.
She shook her head and refocused. “I was pretty immobile. I’d given her the shopping list and . . . she cal ed from the store. She didn’t know whether I wanted green or red peppers. I wanted the red ones. I was making . . .” The tears came and were blinked away sharply. “Anyway, that was the last time anyone heard from her.”
Veck returned the photograph to the shelf. As he went to sit back down next to Heron, he frowned. The man was staring at the victim’s mother with the intensity of a film camera, like he was reading and recording every twitch of her eye and purse of her mouth as she spoke.
As Veck’s radar started pinging like crazy, it was unclear whether it was about the missing girl or her sad, lovely mother or this massive man who looked like he could start a fire with that hard, burning stare of his.
“If I can interject,” Veck said, “did she have any boyfriends?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Heron’s hands tighten on his thighs, cranking down tight.
“No. She had friends that were boys, of course, and a prom date here and there . . . nothing serious, though. At least, not that she told me—and she was general y open about her life.”
Those hands released abruptly.
“Do you have anything you want to ask,” Veck said to the agent.
There was a long stretch of silence. Just before it got truly awkward, the man said in a deep, low voice, “Mrs. Barten, I’m going to bring her home to you.
One way or another, I wil get her back for you.”
Veck recoiled, thinking, Shit, don’t go there, buddy. “Ah, what he means is—”
“It’s al right.” Mrs. Barten clasped the base of her throat. “I’m not fooling myself. I know that she’s . . . not with us anymore. A mother feels the cold in the heart. We just want to know what happened and . . . have a chance to lay her to rest properly.”
“You wil have her back. I swear it.”
Now Mrs. Barten choked up—and why wouldn’t she. The guy was like a warrior with the vengeance routine, more avenger than agent.
“Thank you . . . al of you.”
Veck discreetly checked his watch. “If you’l excuse me and my partner, we’re going to head over to the supermarket. The manager said he was leaving early today.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
Agent Heron helped Mrs. Barten up by taking her hand. “Would you mind if I take a look at her bedroom?”
“Sure—I’l lead you right up.” She turned to Veck and Reil y. “If you need to go now, you can always come back.”
“Thank you,” Reil y said. “We’l do that.”
“And we’l see ourselves out the door,” Veck murmured.
As Agent Heron and the victim’s mother hit the stairs, Veck paused in the front hal and watched them ascend together. A window on the landing above cast il umination on them, the shaft of sunlight hitting them both square on the face and acting as a beacon for their—
Wait a minute.
Veck glanced over into the living room . . . where the golden rays were pouring in from the west.
Impossible. You couldn’t get that
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