Nate hesitated. Emma had never been one of those wives who moaned about her husband’s awkward hours. She never complained or asked him to put things off. It just wasn’t in her nature to whine. But she was exhausted and worried and terrified about Josh’s diagnosis. He was too.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll come straight home after work.”

“Thanks. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Nate got out of the car at the police station, a toothpick clenched between his teeth. Kia was already there, sitting on the bench in front, fiddling with her phone. A gust of wind ruffled her shaggy hair, and she dashed a hand through it as she jumped to her feet.

“Lieutenant Dyson said she just appeared at the station earlier,” Kia said.

“Any idea why she didn’t report him missing?”

“No. Let’s go find out.”

The police interrogation room was small and industrial, with a long white table and three chairs. Mariana Ramirez sat across the desk from Nate and Kia. She was Hispanic, tiny, with long, jet-black hair, an overbite, and tired eyes. Her fingers nervously twisted a chain of pink rosary beads at her throat.

Kia informed her in Spanish that they would be recording, and Nate pressed Record.

“Santiago, he didn’t show at my house on Monday.” Her accent was thick, but her English good. “He always comes on Monday. Always, to see our son.”

Nate glanced at the notes he had in his hand. “Miss Ramirez. Mariana. Why didn’t you report him as a missing person?”

Mariana’s eyes filled with tears. She pulled a tissue from her jeans pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “I was, cómo se dice, enojado?”

“Angry?” Kia provided.

“Sí. Yes. I was angry. I went to my mother’s on Tuesday with my son. She is very sick, and I was angry at Santiago, so I didn’t call.”

Mariana bent over the table, the tissue pressed to her eyes. For a moment, the only sound in the room was her crying.

“Why were you angry?” Nate asked gently.

“We argued about money. I asked him for more—for our son. He needs shoes, but Santiago says he doesn’t have it right now.”

Kia touched her arm and murmured to her in Spanish. Nate had never been good at Spanish in school. He jotted a note to follow up with Mariana Ramirez’s mother and check her alibi.

“Mariana, your boyfriend had highly illegal substances at his house,” Nate said after a minute. “Do you know where he got these? Or what he planned to do with them?”

Mariana sniffed. “Santiago doesn’t want to sell these things anymore. He… shouted on the phone a few days ago. Maybe Friday.”

“Do you know who he was talking to?”

Mariana shook her head. “He didn’t say names. But when the phone rang, I picked it up, and the phone said Ben.”

CHAPTER 16