Louis nodded.

Len started in one corner, spraying the first wall, from the floor to about four feet above, with luminol. He nodded at Mobley, standing near the door.

Mobley hit the switch and the cabana went dark. Louis anticipated the glow of the phosphorescent blue that would have signaled the smallest speck of blood. Len flicked on the portable luminol light.

Nothing.

“Do the others,” Mobley said, flicking the lights back on.

Len sprayed the second and third walls. Again nothing. After the fourth wall, Mobley hit the lights again. Len ran the light over the tiles in a slow caress. Nothing.

Mobley turned on the light and looked at Louis.

“Check the ceiling,” Louis said.

Len glanced at Mobley. Mobley nodded. Len pulled an old wicker chair to the middle of the floor and climbed on it, spraying the ceiling. Again, there was nothing when the lights were turned off.

Louis was staring at the floor, his eyes drawn to the drain near the shower. “Try the shower stall. Near the drain.”

Just as Len was flicking on the portable light, Scott appeared at the cabana door. Louis looked back at him but couldn’t read his expression in the dark. A man came up behind Scott. It took Louis a moment to recognize Brian. Louis watched as Scott leaned over and whispered something to his brother. Then they stepped outside.

Louis watched. They had stopped by the pool. Brian was shaking his head; Scott was doing all the talking.

“Nothing here, Sheriff.”

Louis turned back to Len, who was on his knees by the shower stall holding the portable light. Mobley was kneeling next to him. When he looked up at Louis, his face was grim in the ghostly blue light.

“There’s nothing here, Kincaid.” He got to his feet and went to hit the wall switch. “Twenty years is a long time.”

Louis paused, looking at the wall. He was thinking about the ugly green tile in Susan’s kitchen and the cracked black and white tiles up in the mansion. He ran a hand over the peach and blue tiles and in the grout crevices between. These tiles looked clean in comparison.

He was remembering what Vince said: She had almost bled out. It would have left a big mess.

A mess that Brian had not been able to clean up. So his father had ordered all the old tile ripped out and new tile installed. Louis looked at Mobley.

“This isn’t the original tile,” he said.

He pursed his lips, then turned to Len. “Go get the axe from your cruiser, Len,” he said.

When Len returned, Louis held out a hand. Len looked at Mobley, who nodded. Len handed him the axe. Louis took a step back and aimed at a section of the wall near the shower.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

They turned to see Scott standing at the cabana door. “You can’t tear up walls,” Scott shouted.

“Read the warrant, Scott,” Mobley said.

Louis swung the axe. It cracked into the tile, scattering chips at his feet.

Louis swung again, and this time the axe cut through the wall and lodged in the empty space behind it. Louis pulled the axe free and looked at the sheet rock. Using the sharp edge of the axe, Louis began to pry off the tiles. Mobley came up next him and started popping them off with his pocket knife. When they had cleared a couple square feet up from the floor, Mobley waved Len to come over with the luminol.

Nothing. They moved onto another section, popping tiles, spraying the luminol and lighting the sheet rock. Still nothing. The sheet rock was clean.

They went on to the next wall, then the third, chipping out sections of the tiles and spraying the sheet rock beneath. Finally, after a half-hour, they stopped. The air was heavy with dust and the sound of ragged breathing.

A coughing sound made Louis turn. Brian was holding a Kleenex over his nose. Scott was just standing there, leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed, his mouth pulled in a tight line.

“I think you’re done here, Sheriff,” Scott said.

Mobley nodded at Len, who started to pack up. Louis was staring at the walls, at the gashes, the gray sheet rock and the jagged tiles. He turned when Mobley put a hand on his shoulder.

“Enough,” Mobley said quietly. “There’s nothing here.”

“Damn it, Lance, she was stabbed twelve times,” Louis said tightly. He threw the axe down in frustration. “Not one fucking drop of blood on these walls.”

Mobley moved away, talking quietly to the other deputies who had gathered near the door. Louis could hear him giving orders to start packing up. He could hear Scott and Brian too, whispering.

Louis stared at the ravaged walls. She was here damn it. He knew she was here. He could almost feel her presence, almost see what had happened. He could almost see-

Walls. No walls.

He took a step closer, staring at a torn piece of sheet rock. Maybe there were no walls here when she was killed.

Louis grabbed the edge of a torn piece of sheet rock, and jerked backward, ripping off the entire board. There was nothing beyond it but studs and the old lath and plaster backing. No blood stains.

He heard Scott call to Mobley, but he didn’t turn. He moved to the next piece of sheet rock, curling his fingers over the side edge.

“Sheriff, this is fucking crazy,” Scott said.

Then he felt a hand on his back.

“Kincaid-” Mobley said.

Louis shrugged Mobley off and yanked at another piece of sheet rock, breaking it off. He threw it down and pulled again.

“Louis!”

The wood groaned and the rest of the panel popped off, sending Louis stumbling backward.

A flash of red caught his eye and he struggled to gain his balance. The cabana fell silent, a film of white dust in the air.

He moved closer.

Fabric. A billow of red. And a yellow cloth that seemed suspended in the air between the two-by-fours.

Then he saw the bones. It was a full skeleton, bent in a fetal position. The arm and leg bones had dropped away but most of it was still intact, the skull lodged against a stud, balanced on top of the vertebrae.

A strange cry pierced the silence and Louis spun around.

Brian was staring at the bones in the wall, his face white.

“I left her in the dump!” he shouted. “How could she be here? I left her in the dump!”

Scott grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “Shut up,” he hissed, pushing him backward. “Shut up!”

Louis and Mobley followed them from cabana. Brian was muttering Kitty’s name, waving his arms. Scott finally grabbed his shoulders, drawing Brian so close he had no choice but to walk with him. Scott led him toward the grass, and eased him down.

Brian was crying.

Mobley started toward them, but Scott waved him off. Scott knelt in front of Brian, leaned close and said something to him. After a moment, Brian shuddered and gently placed his forehead against his brother’s.

Mobley gave them a few seconds, then walked over.

“Stand up, Brian. You’re under arrest.”

Brian didn’t move. Finally, Scott helped his brother to his feet. Brian stood there, wavering, his face streaked, his eyes panicked. Scott took his brother’s face in his hands, looking him in the eyes.

“Brian, listen to me,” Scott said. “Don’t say a word, not one damn word. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Do you hear me?”

Brian closed his eyes.

Scott shook him. “Brian! Do you hear me?”

Brian nodded weakly. Scott let go.

Louis watched as a deputy led Brian away, Scott following. Mobley was giving orders to the deputies. Louis turned and walked back into the cabana.

He went back to the hole in the wall. He stared at the skeleton. The tilt of the skull made it look almost like it was in mourning.

He moved closer. He could see it was a female.

The red fabric was a skirt, deep brown stains of dried blood running down the front of it. The yellowed cloth was streaked with brown splotches. There was a pink band around the skull and a necklace of some kind hung between the clavicle and sternum.