“That’s your right.” He handed the store owner a card. “Call me if you think of anything.”

“Sure. Of course. I’m really sorry to hear about them both. A girl can’t be too careful.”

“No, sir, they cannot.”

On the drive back to the office, Spencer requested any background material on Rawlings. By the time he arrived at his office and hung up his hat, he had promises for a quick follow-up. He sat at his desk and discovered an email message waiting for him regarding security recordings at the hospital.

When the hospital footage of Emma Powers had arrived early the previous morning, Spencer had assigned the task of reviewing it to two forensic technicians, who had spent yesterday combing through it. When his phone rang, the technician reiterated the highlights in chronological order.

Spencer opened the attachments and noted the time stamp from two days ago, when Emma Powers had walked into the hospital at 4:00 a.m. Coffee in hand, she’d paused to show her badge to the security guard and then vanished inside.

There were several instances when Emma had been spotted in the hospital that day. She had been carrying in meals to patients, delivering water and sodas. Once she had been on Jordan’s floor. She had often paused at the nurses’ station to chat. She’d spent time in the break room, eating a burger and watching an afternoon talk show.

And then later that afternoon, she had emerged from the hospital. The grainy image showed her burrowing her hands into the pockets of her scrubs as she ducked her head and moved to the bus station and sat on the bench. She checked her watch once or twice. And then something distracted her.

He zoomed in on the image and saw the outline of a figure standing in the shadows. He crossed the street, lingered near her, and then started a conversation with her.

The two lingered for several minutes, her bus came and went, and then they crossed the street out of the camera’s range. He pulled up Google Maps and saw the diner. A woman would not feel threatened to visit a diner with a stranger in the late afternoon.

Spencer scribbled down the name of the restaurant and then picked up his phone and dialed. On the third ring, he heard, “Jordan Poe.”

“It’s Spencer. How would you like to go out to a late lunch?”

“I can always eat, but why?”

“Surveillance footage of Emma Powers shows her possibly going into a diner across the street from the hospital.”

“McKenzie’s Diner, right?”

“That’s the one.”

“Great french fries. Sure, I’m in.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“It’ll be faster if I Uber over there. I’ll see you in about a half hour at the diner.”

“I can get you.”

“Really not necessary.”

Her determined tone told him she needed to do this. “Okay.”