“Thanks. Now, changing the subject, are you tired, Jeff? You sound tired.”

“Not from lack of sleep, but yes. I can’t wait to get back to normal, climb into your bed after a night chasing badasses who think life is disposable-hold you, smell your hair, kiss your neck. I miss you, hon.”

“I miss you, too.”

“What are you wearing?” he asked.

The conversation went on from there and had nothing to with anything but us. A nice long conversation.

10

The next morning, before I went to the hotel for Emma’s meeting with Kravitz, I scanned the family photo and used Photoshop to produce a decent headshot of her mother.

I had no idea what time Kate came in last night, but she’d showered and left for work without even sticking her head into my office to say good-bye. That told me she didn’t want to discuss her “get back on the horse before nightfall” approach to her love life. She couldn’t avoid me forever, though. We needed to talk. This was way out of character for her.

I put several of my new Christine O‘Meara photos in my bag, bade farewell to the animals and left for Emma’s hotel. On the way, I called DeShay and got his voice mail. I didn’t leave another message. He’d get back to me when he had something on any unidentified bodies from ’97 or arrest records for Christine.

When I arrived on Emma’s hotel floor, Sergeant Benson was waiting for the elevator as I got off. He let the elevator leave without him when he recognized me.

The man was built like my daddy, short and stout, with a similar cheerful demeanor-like he owned a permanent smile. Nice if you can get it working homicide. He smelled like cigarettes rather than like Daddy’s cigars, and had an unhealthy-looking ruddy complexion. Probably headed for a heart attack, too.

“How you doing, Ms. Rose?” he said.

“Great, Sergeant. You learn anything new to tell Emma?”

“Nope. They just finished processing the crime scene this morning. I came to check on her after her accident.”

“A courtesy call?” He’d probably come for more than a medical report.

“Ah, you’re a sharp one. Ms. Lopez needs to make a trip to the ME’s office. I’d give her a lift but Don and I got a call. Maybe you can drive her over there.”

“Did they find something identifiable about the baby’s remains? Clothing, maybe?”

“Don’t I wish. We gotta have an ID on the infant for court. Ms. Lopez needs her mouth swabbed for DNA to verify kinship. Has to sign up at the county morgue for the privilege or I’d take the sample myself.”

“For court?” I wondered if progress had been made that he wasn’t talking about.

“If we ever get there. Judges are happier when they know who the victim is for absolute certain. By the way, I hear you’re working the mother angle for Ms. Lopez.”

“She hired me even before the baby was found. Venture Productions may think money is all Emma cares about, but that’s not true. She realized too late that they want to air information Emma would rather keep private, and I’m trying my best to run interference for her-find out about her missing mother before the production company does. Is that a problem?”

“Not for me. Girl can hire whoever she wants. But let me give you a heads-up. My partner? Very territorial. Don’s got a heart of gold, but he pisses a ring around our cases. He might give you a hard time.”

“That’s good to know. I’ll try not to step on any toes,” I said.

“From what Ms. Lopez just told me, it’s clear you want to help this family,” he said. “But maybe you could share anything you learn with us.”

“Sure. I worked with the police on a case not long ago.” I held out my hand and we shook.

“Now go talk to your client,” Benson said. “She was worried you wouldn’t arrive before the reporter did. But he’s running late-as you’d expect from someone so friggin’ important.” He grinned and jammed the elevator’s down button.

A few seconds later Emma let me into her suite. She’d switched to a simple sling to support her arm. She said, “Glad you got here first. Kravitz called and he’s on his way up. Don’t let me say anything I shouldn’t, okay? Wink or clear your throat or do whatever you think is necessary to shut me up.”

“He probably knows everything already.” And probably knew about Xavier Lopez’s wife and sons, too. I should have discussed this with Emma yesterday and-

My thoughts were interrupted by a staccato knock, and Emma opened the door.

I recognized Paul Kravitz at once, but he wasn’t alone. Beside him was an older, petite woman, and behind them stood Stu Crowell.

Emma said, “I-I thought you were coming alone… to meet me first.”

Nothing like a crowd of unwelcome faces when you were expecting only one. “She’s not exactly up for a meeting that requires stadium seating,” I said.

Kravitz smiled. “This is only a preinterview. Mr. Crowell is here to check sound and lighting as well as a number of other technical issues.” Kravitz, a tall, lanky man, looked down at Emma. “Good to finally speak with you in person. I can’t convey how sorry I am about the circumstances that brought this story to our attention.”

“I appreciate that,” Emma said, sounding wary. She nodded at me. “This is Abby Rose. She’s a-”

“Private detective. I know.” Kravitz held out his hand. The man was skeletally thin, and I was sure I felt all hundred-something bones in his hand when we shook. He wore a sports jacket, crewneck shirt and worn jeans.

I turned to the woman Kravitz had failed to introduce.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Abby.”

“Sandy Sechrest.” She smiled warmly. Judging by the age lines on her square face, I’d say she was in her late fifties, early sixties. She carried a black suitcase-briefcase size, only thicker-that bore her gold initials.

Emma led the way into the living area.

Kravitz said, “Stu, where should we set up?”

Emma, who seemed bewildered by this invasion, said, “I don’t understand. You said you wouldn’t be taping today. You said-”

Stu cut her off. “The armchair will work. We can close the drapes, turn on the lamp. Create a nice soft look for Emma.”

“Sandy, will that work?” Kravitz asked.

The woman nodded.

“Sandy is our makeup artist,” Kravitz said. “We want to see how you’ll appear on tape, but I have a feeling you won’t need much help. Your skin is perfect and you won’t wash out.”

“You promised we’d talk first and tape later.” Emma’s jaw was tight, her words clipped.

“We won’t use anything we tape today on the air,” Kravitz said. “I have another story in Ohio to wrap up. I need an initial interview, will take the tape with me and go over your story. I’ll only be gone a few days.”

Emma lowered herself onto the sofa-not the chair Stu had chosen. “Why can’t anyone be straight with me? You hide information from the beginning, say one thing and do another; then you come here after promising-”

“I wasn’t the one who hid information from you.” Kravitz took one of the leather chairs across from the sofa. Stu, meanwhile, was opening and closing the drapes, checking out the dining area, no doubt deciding if there was a better option than his first choice for the taping.

Sandy Sechrest took the other armchair next to Kravitz while I sat next to Emma, a glass coffee table between us. A white china coffeepot, three mugs and various pastries rested on a silver tray. The sweet cinnamon smell hit me in an unexpected way, reminding me how much I missed Jeff and his ever-present Big Red gum. How would Jeff handle Paul Kravitz?

“Listen, Paul-I can call you Paul, right?” I said, taking in Kravitz more fully. If I’d met this guy on the street, I might have thought he’d recently had chemotherapy. On the tube he looked distinguished and sharp. In person, without makeup and lights, he had charcoal shadows beneath his eyes and his posture spoke of fatigue. I guessed his ash brown hair had been dyed, because the stubble on his clefted chin was steel gray.