At a staff meeting, on the elevator, and I ran into her in the break room when I was looking for Bryce. The last time I saw her probably was around four P.M. after I left the autopsy room with my assistant chief, Dr. Zenner, and we walked past the PIT.

Lucy was inside replacing several projectors, and we chatted with her for a while. She wasn’t in a flight suit then.

CHAPTER 22

SHE’S BLASÉ ABOUT IT, claiming she spilled coffee and had to change her clothes.

I know when my niece is evasive. It’s as obvious as her rose-gold hair and as plain as the narrow nose on her intensely pretty face. I check my phone, mindful of the minutes creeping by, and still nothing from Harold or Rusty about how the tent is coming along.

Usually Lucy would volunteer right about now, asking if she could go check on them. Technical engineer that she is, maybe there’s something she could do to help. But she doesn’t offer and isn’t going anywhere. It’s obvious she has an agenda, has shown up unannounced for a reason, and I may as well see what it is as I wait, tamping down my impatience, glancing at my phone every other second.

I don’t want to hound Rusty and Harold. It’s not helpful if I continue interrupting them while they struggle with their erection, as Marino put it rather horribly the last time I checked. But probably I shouldn’t stand out here in the dark talking to my niece either. A better idea is to head back to the clearing and find out for myself how things are going. I want to make sure no one is overheating or needs anything, and I’m mindful of rumors.

I don’t want an ugly one starting about my sitting in the air-conditioning, relaxing with my feet propped up while everybody else toils in what feels like Death Valley after dark. I don’t want it said that I was taking my sweet time fraternizing with my niece, who thundered up to the scene in a Ferrari that costs more than a lot of houses. My mother still preaches that appearance is everything. These days she has no idea how right she is.

It doesn’t take much for people—especially cops—to question your competence and credibility. It takes less for them to wonder about your honesty, and even less than that to doubt your human decency. Any suggestion that I’m entitled or lazy could influence a jury in a negative way. The truth is almost anything can.

“Lucy, I need to head out and check on things …” I start to say, and she moves closer to me, touching my arm in a way that’s arresting.

“Let’s cool off and get something to drink,” she replies, and it’s not a suggestion.