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 about ten seconds. Rain bounced off the front of his cap. “I think the best way for you to proceed is leave your contact information so I can pass it up the line.”

Ricci stared at him with cold intensity, ignoring the other three uniforms.

“The detective in charge,” he said. “Call him over.”

His expression no longer friendly, the cop looked about to react to the outright challenge.

Then a new voice: “You two Ricci and Thibodeau?”

Ricci turned and saw the man in the raincoat hurrying around from behind the crosswise-parked cars. His blond hair was wet.

“Erickson,” Ricci said.

The detective moved his head up and down, then flicked a glance at the uniforms. They backed off and returned to their black-and-whites.

“Megan Breen just called on my cell,” he said. “She told me you were coming, explained you’d like to view the scene.”

Ricci nodded.

“She’s been very cooperative,” Erickson said. “There are certain restrictions on where you can and can’t go. You guys agree to abide by them, I’ll try to return the favor.”

Thibodeau didn’t hesitate for an instant.

“Be appreciated,” he said.

Erickson nodded.

“Follow me,” he said, and then turned to walk back up the drive.

They followed.

An eight-month stint in Antarctica had raised Megan Breen’s command of her patience to a sublime level, and she had done everything she could to keep herself occupied while awaiting word from Africa and Ashley’s callback. Whatever else was happening, she had a company to manage, as she’d had an ice station to run amid a wide spectrum of crises brought on by both man and nature throughout the polar winter. Her waking nightmare had begun today with two small-city detectives arriving out of the blue to deliver the most unexpected and shocking of messages. The tense, rapidly called huddle with Ricci and Thibodeau had followed without segue in Megan’s numbed mind. But the constant reminders that it was still a day at the office were among the nightmare’s most surreal components. There were matters she needed to track in every area of operation. Routine decisions to make, clusters of problems to address, requests to grant, deny, or put on hold. Many of them were duties she would have normally considered headaches but counted as blessings right now in her attempts to stay busy. She did not expect to give better than partial attention to anything in front of her, nor stop her fears about Julia from obtruding on her thoughts. Still, Megan could only believe that being partially diverted, maintaining even the flimsiest semblance of normalcy, was preferable to giving in to the sense of helpless, useless, agonizing despair that would be the sure and terrible alternative.