about processing the crime scene, looking at the evidence, reconstructing what happened without assumptions. But you were a police detective. Do you actually believe they would come right out and tell me they think Julia Gordian was abducted? Right now Julia’s status is a question. She’s a phantom. A ‘whereabouts unknown.’ I don’t even know that we’ve reached the time period when she can be officially declared a missing person.”
“Doesn’t effect what we do, except maybe giving us the chance to get a jump on the feebs,” Ricci said. “Once this gets ticketed a kidnapping they’ll be all over it.”
“I can’t see how that’s bad,” Megan said. “It’s not us against them. They have resources. Expertise in the field—”
“And we know how their main office loves sharing intelligence,” Ricci said.
He was quiet and still. The silence was like a knot bunched in tightly around his thoughts.
“Won’t get us anywhere to sit here talking,” he said at length. “I’m heading out to the scene while it’s warm. Before it gets too worked over.”
Megan wanted to catch Thibodeau’s eye but knew Ricci would not miss the slightest glance. She chose to wait, and Rollie didn’t disappoint her.
“No sense you going alone,” he told Ricci. “Better you and me get a look at things together.”
“I can handle it myself.”
“That ain’t the matter. We got to figure the local police won’t be thrilled by our visit. Be tougher for ’em to shake off two of us than one.”
Megan was quick to move in.
“Rollie’s right,” she said. “He should go, too. I’ll make some calls and pull whatever strings I can from here.”
Ricci regarded her closely. “That a suggestion or an order?”
“It’s how I want it,” she said.
Ricci kept his eyes on her a moment longer and then shifted them to Thibodeau.
“She can give you directions to the shelter,” he said, and stood. “I’ll wait down the hall.”
Thibodeau caught up to him as he was holding his palm to the biometric scanner to bring an elevator for the garage level. He looked to be sure Megan was still back in the safe room before putting a hand on Ricci’s arm.
“Keep talkin’ to me like I’m some junior rover, it’ll get settled between us in good course,” he said in a low voice. “But what you said about the boss’s girl being killed… you don’t want to give touch to that around Megan. Don’t want to go near it.”
“You think it’s something we should rule out?”
“I think we all got experience enough to know the could-be’s, and Meg sees things clearer than anybody you ever gonna meet. But ain’t no cause for you adding to her pain.”
Ricci shrugged.
“Fine,” he said. “Next time we meet on the subject I’ll be sure to raise the possibility the boss’s daughter took off on a cruise to nowhere.”
Thibodeau brushed his gaze over Ricci’s face.
“Take a look in the mirror some day,” he said. “You going to see one cruel son of a bitch.”
Ricci stood there a second or two without a word. Then the elevator dinged its arrival.
“Sure enough,” he said, and turned to enter the car, leaving Thibodeau to follow him through its open doors.
There were two Sonoma police cruisers parked across the foot of the drive as Ricci’s VW Jetta approached in the falling rain. Pulled abreast of each other, the black-and-whites faced in opposite directions and had sawhorses erected on either side of them.
About thirty feet west of the blockade, Thibodeau nodded toward the right shoulder of the road.
“We might want to stop here, stroll on over to them,” he said, ending a silence that had lasted for their entire ride to the rescue center. “Be less apt to get their backs up.”
Ricci said nothing in response, but whipped the car onto the puddled shoulder.
They got out and continued toward the drive on foot, raindrops rattling hard against their umbrellas.
The cops exited their cruisers in dark waterproof ponchos, walking around from either side as officers will do when strangers come toward them, cautiously, neither trying to hide nor be too conspicuous about the readiness of their draw hands, but keeping them just near enough to their holsters to exert a subtle, nonprovocational psychic weight.
Ricci took note of their guarded stances with an evaluative eye. He had met unknown persons the same way on hundreds of occasions in his decade with the Boston force.
The first cop came forward carefully.
“Gentlemen.” A little nod. Calm, polite tone. “What can we do for you?”
Ricci told him their names, flashing his Sword insignia card in its display case.
“We’re UpLink private security,” he said. “You might’ve heard of us.”
The uniform checked the identification. He nodded.
“Sure,” he said. “Good things. I once checked out job opportunities on your Web site. There are some tough prereqs just to snag an interview.”
Ricci did not comment.
“Our boss’s daughter,” he said. “She’s your missing person.”
The cop gave another nod. He had dropped his show-room face.
“Julia Gordian,” he said. “This is a damn bad one.”
“We need to take a look around the C.S.”
The cop paused a moment. He wore his cap under the hood of the poncho and its bill shed droplets of water as he shook his head.
“Not possible,” he said. “The area’s been secured.”
Ricci stared at him.
“We drove all the way from SanJo,” he said. “Make an exception.”
Thibodeau tried to moderate Ricci’s harshness.
“We understand you got physical evidence needs to be protected and want to feel comfortable,” Thibodeau said. “And we won’t give it no nevermind if somebody from your department sticks with us, make sure we don’t disturb nothing.”
The cop gave him a curious glance. “Louisiana?” he said.
“And proud of it,” Thibodeau said. “Didn’t think anybody could hear no accent.”
A grin.
“Went down for Mardi Gras once. Beats the hell out of me how you people can take eating that spicy food.”
“Secret’s to line the gut with moonshine.”
The cop’s grin enlarged a bit.
“Look, I really wish I could do something to help, but we have rules about restricting access to unauthorized parties.”
Thibodeau made his pitch. “No special considerations for fellas you hear such great things about?”
“None I have any pull to give. You’d need to arrange for special clearance.”
Ricci briefly let his glance range over the cop’s shoulder. A crime scene van and other police vehicles stood farther uphill. Small clusters of technical services and investigative personnel were everywhere. He noticed a plainclothesman in a raincoat moving between them on the drive. He was hatless, carried no umbrella, and had both hands in the pockets of his coat.
He turned his attention back to the uniform.
“Who’s the scene coordinator?”
“That would be Detective Erickson—”
Ricci cut him short. “Then stop wasting our time and call him over.”
The cop managed not to look flustered. But his partners were drifting slowly over from outside their patrol cars.
“Unless there’s some urgent reason, my orders are to see the investigation isn’t interrupted,” he said after
