Caitlin’s first reaction—God, no. The second after, she felt shame blush her cheeks. Doris didn’t give her time to answer.

“Books, movies, TV shows, I can’t watch any of them if the R-word comes up. But I obsess about abduction. Perverts in vans, the Law and Order episodes about the heinous things done to kids, the women in your book.”

“My book?”

“Fallen Angels. A reporter working with the ex-cop she once sent to jail for corruption uncovers an underground prostitution ring run by LAPD officers.”

“Wow,” Caitlin said. “Where were you when my publisher wanted a synopsis?”

Doris continued, “I gobble up stories of abduction. Do you know why?”

Caitlin nodded. “Because you want to believe Angela is still alive.”

“Because I know Angie is still alive, Caitlin. I know it.”

“What about your suspects?”

“Yes, I suppose I should say I feel Angie’s still alive. The facts indicate that my daughter died of alcohol poisoning or a drug overdose. Both of those boys—her boyfriend and the other one—were into cocaine, pot, and God knows what else. Both Lakshmi and the police assume they panicked and disposed of Angie’s body. It’s the logical conclusion.”

Doris rose to stand in front of a three-foot-high photo of Angela, the kind police would use at a press conference. “My husband thinks Angie’s dead. You don’t see his handwriting anywhere in this room, at least not on anything in the last year.”

“Separated?” Caitlin said softly.

“Not legally. He keeps an apartment near his office, claims it’s better on his commute. It’s really so he can move on, and I won’t let him do that here. Because someone, somewhere, knows what happened to Angie, and I’m going to spend every last second, dollar, and tear I have to find out.”

She turned to Caitlin. “I don’t need you to find my daughter, Caitlin. The media stopped caring a year ago, the police ran out of options, and I’m too close to stop my bias from blurring my vision. I only ask you to look with fresh eyes.”

Lakshmi put a hand on Doris Chapman’s shoulder. Doris covered the hand with her own and looked back to Caitlin.

“We’re the only ones who still care, and she could be out there fighting all by herself. I won’t stop fighting until she tells me to.”

*   *   *

Lakshmi gripped the wheel more firmly than needed. “You won’t use any of our notes?”

The drive from the south side of Indianapolis to Bloomington would take forty-five minutes, and they’d only gone five.

“Lakshmi, I have a certain way I approach a story.”

The deep valley of the girl’s furrowed brow relaxed into a flat plain. “Brilliant, how do you work?”