looking for a different question and answer here, they’re wanting the answers to what happened to their daughter. They’re trying to figure out how her shopping got her killed.

‘Sure, she shopped,’ she says.

‘Did Rachel use a credit card?’

‘The goddamn bank sent us a bill,’ Michael Tyler says. ‘They

told us if we didn’t pay it they were going to get the debt collectors onto us. We explained Rachel had gone missing. Hell, it was

in the news, so they already knew. Only they didn’t care. Their argument was nobody had any proof of what happened to Rachel

and they shouldn’t end up footing the bill.’

‘It was awful.’ Patricia Tyler’s tears start to come now. For

a few moments she does nothing to try to stop them, just lets

them roll down her face as if she hasn’t noticed them. Then she raises a handkerchief and tries to dab them away, but they keep on coming. ‘Can you imagine that? Our daughter is missing, possibly dead — or, as it turns out, she was. Or is.’

‘Both, actually’ her husband interjects, and he looks close

to tears too, and he shrugs a little, as if unsure why he made the comment. I know the moment I leave they will fall into an

embrace neither of them will ever want to break.

And those heartless thugs at the bank register us with a debt

collection agency’

‘Do you have that last credit card statement?’

‘We have everything,’ she says.

‘Can I see it?’

‘Why?’

‘It might tell me where Rachel was that day, or in the days

before.’

‘The police already have a copy of it. It didn’t lead them

anywhere.’

‘But it might lead me somewhere.’

She doesn’t argue the point. She just walks out of the room,

leaving me and her husband alone in uncomfortable silence until she returns with the bill. She hands it over to me. I scroll down.

Clothes, CDs, more clothes. Petrol.

‘These are all standard places she went?’

‘They’re on all of her bills.’

‘Where was her car found?’

At the university. It was where she always parked it.’

And the florist?’ I ask, stopping my finger next to the purchase she made a week before she disappeared.

‘She bought flowers for her grandmother.’

‘Anything else here stand out?’ I ask.

‘Nothing.’

‘Okay. Can I take this with me?’

‘Don’t lose it,’ she says.

She walks me to the door. Michael Tyler stands up, seems

about to join us, but sits back down. The hallway is warm and

there seem to be more pictures of Rachel hanging up than there were when I was here last night, as if the Tylers thought they could use them to keep the bad news at bay.

‘The man last night. The reporter said his name was Bruce

Alderman. You haven’t said it, but you think he’s innocent, don’t you? That’s why you’re here.’

I think of the look in Bruce’s eyes before he pulled the trigger.

I think of the key in his pocket with my name on the envelope.

“I don’t think he did it,’ I admit.

‘Will you find who did?’

‘I’ll try. I promise.’

I’m halfway down the pathway when it strikes me. I turn back

around and Patricia is still standing there watching me, watching the person who two years after her daughter went missing came

along and told them all was lost.

‘The flowers for her grandmother. Was there an occasion?’

‘My mother died a week before Rachel disappeared. It was

one of the reasons the police thought she’d run away. Rachel and

my mum were close. For the first few years my mother helped

raise Rachel. The police assumed she was depressed and needed

to get away. She bought flowers to take out to the cemetery for the funeral.’

‘Which cemetery?’

‘Woodland Estates.’

Woodland Estates. The cemetery with the lake. The cemetery

with my daughter.

The cemetery where Rachel Tyler was found.

chapter seventeen

It’s a connection that was there two years ago but nobody was

looking for it. Nobody even knew to look for it. Why would

they? No way could they have known Rachel Tyler was going to

be found one day buried in a cemetery. No way could they have

known that her going to her grandmother’s funeral was sending

her into the scope of her killer.

My cellphone rings, which is good news for me, since it means

it’s up and running. I look at the display but don’t recognise the number.

‘Hello?’

‘What are you doing fucking with my investigation?’

‘Who is this?’

‘Who the hell do you think? You visited the Tylers.’

‘Look, Landry, I was …’ But I don’t know how to finish.

‘Jesus, Tate, what the hell are you playing at here? You’re going to seriously fuck things up for us.’

“I know what I’m doing.’

‘If you knew what you were doing, you’d still be carrying a

badge. You’re going to mess things up, and if it wasn’t Bruce

Alderman who killed those girls, that means we’ve still got a

serious investigation on our hands. Which means there’s going to be a trial once we catch the guy, and suddenly we’re going to have to explain your actions at the trial. How’s that going to make you look? Or us? You think any defence lawyer worth more than ten

cents isn’t going to be able to shred our case apart because you’ve fucked up all our evidence? Christ, Sidney Alderman is sure

you killed his son. Come on, Tate, you gotta be more careful. You can’t let this bullshit happen.’

“I didn’t kill him.’

‘I know that. We all know it. But not Alderman. He’s sure you

pulled the trigger. You might want to watch your back.’

‘It was an empty threat.’

‘Maybe. I’d still watch it anyway. He’s building up some Dutch courage.’

‘What do you mean?’

“He went straight from the morgue to a bar. He’s drinking

himself into a state, and I don’t know whether it’s a better or a worse one.’

‘Let me guess. You gave him a lift?’

‘That’s a shitty question, Tate. I’m trying to help you out

here.’

‘Okay Okay, I get the point.’

“I don’t think you do. Because somehow you got her ring.’

‘What?’

‘Rachel Tyler. You got her ring. You showed it to her parents.’

‘Bruce gave it to me.’

‘Bullshit. You had it yesterday afternoon. How’d you get it?

You steal it out of the coffin? Where are you right now?’

I was outside the cemetery about thirty seconds ago, but now

that I know Sidney Alderman isn’t home, I’ll give his house a visit instead. ‘I’m at home.’

“No you’re not. I’m at your house and you’re not here.’

‘Good one, Landry. I’m standing in my driveway and you’re

nowhere around.’

I’m pretty sure we both know the other one is bluffing.

‘Stay out of my case, Tate. Your name comes up one more

time, and I’m going to take some action. Got that? You could do time here, man. You’re compromising things. You stole evidence which, by the way, I want back.’

‘Okay, I’ll…’

But he’s already hung up. I step out of my car and look up

and down the street, suddenly worried that Landry might be

watching me after all. There’s no sign of anybody. He was right about one thing, though. My name is about to come back up in

about twenty minutes when he goes and talks to David. Things,

like he said, are fucked up.

I knock on the door and nobody answers. So I move from

window to window, peering inside, but since even sunlight can’t seem to penetrate the grime there isn’t much chance I can see

anything. A guy like Sidney Alderman would come out and tell

me to go to hell if he knew I was looking through his windows.

That means he definitely isn’t here. I try the back door. It’s locked.

So is the front. I get out the key Bruce left for me and try both doors, but it doesn’t fit. It’s not even close to fitting.