Daniel nearly laughed at the understatement. “Yes, ma’am. I do at that.”

“You might have told me about Porter,” Talia said when they got to his car.

“I’m sorry. I thought I’d told you everything.”

“Well, as Gretchen French said, you have one hell of a mess. I suppose leaving out one thing is to be expected.”

They buckled up and Daniel started the car, then met her eyes. “You were good in there. I hate interviewing the rape victims. I never know what to say, but you did.”

“You do a lot of homicides. That can’t be easy either.”

Daniel winced as he pulled into traffic. “I wouldn’t say I do a lot of homicides.”

She grimaced. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”

“Recently, especially.”

“Daniel, do you think your brother killed Alicia Tremaine thirteen years ago?”

“I’ve done nothing but wonder about that. But they arrested someone else, some drugged-out drifter. They found Alicia’s ring in his pocket and her blood on his clothing and the tire iron he was brandishing when they caught up with him.”

“So what are you thinking, then? Did this rape happen at the same time she was murdered or another time?”

Daniel tapped the steering wheel in an even rhythm as he pondered. “I don’t know.” But now, something else was bothering him. Something he should have considered before, but hadn’t. Something he’d pushed aside, until the pain and fear in Gretchen French’s eyes dragged it front and center.

“Daniel? Think out loud, please. And stop tapping. That’s making me crazy.”

Daniel sighed. “Alicia Tremaine has a twin sister. Alex.” He focused on the road to keep the fear from crowding his mind. “Alex has these bad dreams and panic attacks. They’ve gotten worse since she came back to Dutton a few days ago.”

“Oh.” Talia twisted so that she faced him. “You’re wondering which sister got raped.”

“Alex denies anything happened to her.”

“Not unusual. You have anything more than this picture? Any forensics?”

“No. Like I told you, Dutton’s sheriff and his staff have been less than forthcoming.”

“Which makes you wonder about the arrest of this drugged-out drifter.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Sounds like you need to pay a visit to the state pen, Daniel.”

“I know. I need to separate out the facts on Alicia’s murder from her rape.”

Talia bit her lip thoughtfully. “I once had a case with identical twins, where one was a rape victim who later died from injuries sustained in the assault. We had her hair in the perp’s apartment, but the asshole’s defense attorney kept throwing out that we couldn’t prove which twin the hair had belonged to. Created one hell of a reasonable doubt.”

“Because DNA on identical twins is identical.”

“In this case genetics was not our friend. It looked really bad for the state until the DA put the surviving twin on the stand. It was like the accused had seen a damn ghost. He went white as a sheet and started shaking so hard his shackles sounded like Jacob Marley haunting Scrooge. It made an impact on the jury and they found him guilty.”

“Alex has been all over Dutton getting double-takes. Hell, I did a double-take when I first saw her. That’s not going to help me figure out who’s involved.”

“No,” she said patiently, “but it could startle the guy who’s sitting in a cell for killing her sister into saying some interesting things. Just a thought.”

It was a damn good thought. Daniel pulled into a side road to turn around. “I have the suspicion that every woman we talk to is going to have a story like Gretchen’s.”

“I’d say you’re probably right. You want to let me take over the interviews? You can get your Alex and take her up to visit the drugged-out drifter, whatever his name is.”

“Gary Fulmore. You don’t mind finishing the interviews yourself?”

“Daniel, this is what I do. I’ll get another agent to go with me for backup. You need to focus your efforts on what’s important to this case. At this point, unless any of these women remembers a name or a face, you’re not going to get anything new.”

“But they’re all still important,” he protested.

“Of course they are. And each of these women needs to be told she’s not alone, just like Gretchen. But I can do that, just as well as you can.”

“Probably better.” He glanced at her. “My Alex?”

Talia smiled. “It’s written all over your face, honey.”

He felt a trickle of warmth break through the bleakness in his mind. “Good.”

Atlanta , Wednesday, January 31, 12:45 p.m.

Alex leaned against a light post while Agent Hatton talked to Daniel on the phone. They’d only been looking for Bailey’s father for two hours and already Alex was weary, in body, but mostly soul. So many faces with so much pain and too little hope. So much noise in her mind. She’d given up trying to still it, instead keeping Craig’s face at the front of her mind. She tried to imagine him thirteen years older with a soft beard like Hatton’s.

So far no one had seen Craig Crighton, or would admit to it anyway. But they had blocks to cover still. If her knees didn’t give out first. She was still stiff from her fall the day before and standing still wasn’t helping matters.

Finally Hatton hung up and said, “Let’s go.”

She pushed herself away from the light pole. “Where to?”

“My car. Vartanian’s picking you up. You’re going to visit Macon State.”

She frowned. “College?”

“Um, no. Macon State Penitentiary. You’re going to visit Gary Fulmore.”

“Why?” But as soon as the word flew from her mouth she shook her head. “Stupid question. Of course we’d have to see him sooner or later. But why this afternoon?”

“You’ll have to ask Daniel. Don’t worry. I’ll keep looking and I’ll call you if I find him.”

She winced as her knees creaked. “But first I want to stop by Sister Anne’s shelter. I have a package to drop off.” Hatton took her arm, steadying her. “You’re probably glad to get rid of me. I’m just slowing you down.”

“I wasn’t planning on racing through the streets, Miss Fallon. You’re doing fine.”

“You know, you could call me Alex.”

“I don’t know. Miss Fallon was economical. I’d have to remember two names.”

He was teasing her and she smiled. “Do you have a first name, Agent Hatton?”

“I do.”

She looked up at him. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

He sighed. “George.”

“George? That’s a perfectly fine name. Why the sigh?”

He rolled his eyes tolerantly. “My middle name is Patton.”

Her lips twitched. “George Patton Hatton. Interesting.”

“Just don’t tell anybody.”

“I won’t breathe a word,” she promised, feeling a little lighter in spirit-until they reached Sister Anne’s shelter, and her spirit sagged. Sister Anne was critical. The ICU nurses at Atlanta’s County General had given Alex the prognosis, and it was not good.

Another one of the nuns met them at the door with a smile. “Can I help you?”

“My name is Alex Fallon. I was here two nights ago, talking to Sister Anne about my stepsister, Bailey Crighton.”

The nun’s smile disappeared. “Anne said you were coming back last night.”

“We couldn’t come last night. We took Hope to a doctor. Did Sister Anne say anything yesterday, anything to let you know who might have done this to her?”

The nun hesitated, then shook her head. “She wasn’t here yesterday. She went out looking for Bailey’s daddy. Because you told her you were coming back last night.”

Alex’s heart sank. “Did she find him?”

“I don’t know. I expected her back this morning and she probably would have told me then. But she didn’t come in.” The nun’s lips trembled and she firmed them.

“I was just at the hospital,” Alex said. “I’m sorry.”

The nun nodded brusquely. “Thank you. Now, if that’s all, I have supper to get on.”

“Wait.” Alex held the door open. “Will you see Sarah Jenkins tonight?”