Caitlin swiped at the screen, saw two photos of Chapman. The older, a shot from a family Thanksgiving, showed a makeup-less, medium-height teenager with long brown hair, wearing an Indiana Softball sweatshirt and a reluctant don’t-take-my-picture smile. The second image, maybe two years more recent, featured the same girl lost in a search for herself. She had short, dyed-black hair in a tomboy cut, a nose piercing, and a tattoo of a hummingbird on her neck. Her hands held a lit cigarette and a red plastic party cup, and her mouth opened in what must have been laughter.

Mary Lubbers-Gaffney’s arrival brought Caitlin back to the party. “There you are, Caitie. Got time to meet the Broadcast Department?”

Lakshmi reached for her iPad. “I’m sorry to have taken your time.”

Caitlin saw the young woman’s confidence losing its battle with hopelessness. “I’m sorry something took your friend.”

She tapped the iPad’s Mail icon, typed her personal email address in the “To” field, then handed the tablet back. “No promises, but send me what you’ve got.”

The girl’s smile went supernova, but Caitlin didn’t have to dodge a hug. Lakshmi Anjale had the bearings of a pro. “Thank you, Miss Bergman.”

“Please,” Caitlin emptied the rest of her wine, “call me Caitlin.”

After two generous refills and another hour of pleasantries, she found her way back to her hotel room and slept like she hadn’t told a room full of people she’d been raped.

Chapter 4

CHAPTER

4

BY TEN THE next morning, Caitlin’s pedometer app showed 2.2 miles, and her head no longer pounded.

She stretched her hamstrings, waiting at an empty stoplight out of habit from years of dodging angry Los Angeles drivers. The corner of Park and Second hadn’t changed much. A row of single-story Craftsman homes built in the twenties for stonecutters lived on as rental properties. Green recycling bins overflowed with beer cans, evidence the local culture still studied the classics by lite lagers.

The green signal sent her two more blocks to Bryan Park. Noticeable improvements peppered the park, from the state-of-the-art playground to the huge public pool complex. She jogged southwest, leapt a tiny stream, and felt her heel dig into mud, the suction a reminder of the storms that had preceded her arrival. She stopped in a picnic shelter and caught her breath.

She knew she wouldn’t make it to Tapp Road, wondered if she even should. Two and a half miles on the pedometer, two and a half back to campus. Coffee with Mary, then her book signing. Her showdown with the scene of the crime could wait. She started back toward the hotel.

She slowed when she saw the sculpture. An amorphous limestone rhinoceros looked to the east from atop a three-foot pedestal, and a good memory jumped back to life.