Boullet looked uncomfortable about the direction of the conversation. He was sitting behind his expensive wooden desk, his lips pursed, his gaze locked on the desktop as if afraid to look away. There was more color in his cheeks than there had been a moment ago. "That seems most unlikely. Are you sure there isn't some mistake at your lab? I understand there have been some issues of contamination -"

"Not in a very long while, Doctor. I can assure you, our lab is very clean. And while some forensic science is considered to be questionable, DNA isn't. It's as definitive as fingerprints."

"Very well," the doctor said. "Go on."

"The hairs and fingernails that were found are very brittle, and there are whitish striations in the nails. You'd know better than I what that means. The point is, Daria is missing. And we know from the household staff that she's not well. But if she's critically ill in some way, then that changes the whole dynamic. It increases the urgency of finding her, wouldn't you say?"

"Certainly, people are looking for her anyway," the doctor said. "I'm not sure what -"

"Of course they are," Catherine interrupted. "But there's looking and there's looking. She's young, she's not currently employed, there haven't been any signs of abduction or foul play. And she's well off, and this is Las Vegas. For all we know, she's missing because she took a penthouse suite at the Romanov, or she went to Europe for the month. But if she's in need of constant medical attention or if being away from treatment might result in her death, then it's a different story. Not only does it give us new places to search – hospitals, pharmacies, doctor's offices, and the like – but it changes the importance of finding her quickly. That information might free up more resources for the search."

"I see." The doctor sat there, steepling his fingers. Catherine let the silence build. Keeping the pressure on him. If he truly had his patient's best interests at heart, he would have to make the right decision. "All right. I don't like to do this, because it's a violation of the first rule of patients' rights. And I'll trust you to keep this information as closely held as possible – it would be very bad if it became public. But if it's a matter of her life and death, I suppose I really have no choice."

Jackpot, Catherine thought. Not wanting to spook him into changing his mind, she didn't allow her triumph to show on her face. "That's right."

"Daria is quite seriously ill. I'm afraid I still haven't been able to diagnose her condition adequately; it has only presented itself recently. She has what appears to be congestion in her heart and a bit of an orange-brown discoloration of her skin, which is getting progressively more pronounced. For her heart, I've prescribed digitalis and aspirin for the time being, and I intended to schedule her for a battery of diagnostic tests, but there were… obstacles, and then she stopped returning our calls. On one of my visits to the estate, I checked with her mother, who told me she had gone missing."

"Can you tell me what those obstacles were?"

"Scheduling conflicts, I was led to believe.'

"You don't sound convinced."

"Let's just say that if it were me, I would put the rest of my life on hold until I found out. But there seem to be other factors at work here, other people making decisions for her. Beyond that, I'd rather not go into detail."

Catherine let it go. "So she'll need access to a pharmacy to keep getting the digitalis," she said. "And the skin condition will be something our officers can watch for. That's a big help."

"The family has an adequate supply of medication, at least for the time being. But at some point, yes, she'll need to get more. And I hope this helps her, honestly." He was staring at his desk again, looking stricken. "I take my responsibilities seriously, Supervisor Willows. You presented a quandary, with two competing and mutually exclusive priorities. I hope I chose correctly."

"I'm sure you did, Doctor Boullet," Catherine said. "Thank you for your help."

She was standing up when something he had said struck her. He said he talked to Helena Cameron on one of his visits to the house and that the family had plenty of medicine. Did that mean Helena was suffering from the same thing? She hadn't seen the woman when she had gone to the house – she wasn't well, either, and she had gone to bed, tranquilized, the estate manager had said.

Dustin Goitlieb, in fact, the same estate manager who had sex with Daria before her disappearance.

He would need talking to again.

She started to ask the doctor about Helena, then stopped herself. He had told her everything he was going to and wouldn't talk about Helena, she was sure, without her permission, since she wasn't missing. He had noticed her hesitation, though. "Yes?" he asked. "Will there be something else. Supervisor Willows?"

"No, Doctor. That's quite enough. Thank you again."

She called Wendy from the car. "Thanks for that quick work on the Daria Cameron DNA," she said. "It was exactly what I needed to pry some information out of her doctor."

Wendy didn't ask what information, and Catherine appreciated that. "Glad it was helpful," she said. "I was just about to call you again."

"You've got something else for me? You're on a tear today."

"I just want to get everything wrapped up so I can go home."

"Well, you've been a big help today. We all would like to call it quits, but -"

Wendy cut her off. "I know, Catherine. I wasn't really complaining. Much. Anyway, here's the scoop…"

Catherine knew she was risking Undersheriff Ecklie's wrath by returning to the scene of the crime – the Cameron estate, in this case. She was doubling her jeopardy by demanding to talk to Helena Cameron herself. But after she made her case to Dustin Gottlieb (all the while promising herself she would have a few words with him before she left the premises), he parked her in a sitting room and went to fetch Mrs. Cameron, Drake McCann, and Craig Stilton.

During the few minutes she was waiting there alone, Catherine took in the artwork on the walls – an original Thomas Moran Yellowstone landscape, which was almost as big as one of Catherine's entire walls, a pastoral piece by John Singer Sargent, and more. Many paintings appeared to be at least a hundred years old, most depicting somewhat romanticized landscapes. All were hung in frames that appeared just as old as the paintings themselves.

"I love the out-of-doors," Helena Cameron said in a voice quavering with age and ill health. Catherine was staring at the Yellowstone painting, depicting a brilliant sunset over the mountains, and hadn't heard her come in. "Sadly, I hardly get to see it in person anymore. Bix and I used to travel the West in a style that might surprise you, to look at me now, Mrs. Willows. We drove around in a station wagon with wooden panels on the sides, slept in tents, cooked our meals on campfires. Even after the money was coming in and the children were born, we loved to be outside, in nature. Now I can only experience what little nature there is here on the estate or enjoy it through lovely paintings and photographs."

"I sympathize, Mrs. Cameron," Catherine said. "I've always been more of an indoor girl myself, but I do appreciate natural beauty when I get the chance to see it."

"To what do we owe this visit, Supervisor Willows?" Stilton asked, remembering the right title for her. He and McCann flanked the lady of the house, as if ready to catch her if she fell. Helena Cameron was barely five feet tall and girlishly petite, with white hair cropped boyishly short and skin that looked a few shades past tan. "Is there some development in the case?"