Darlene Jamison lived on the ground floor of a two-story beige stucco apartment. Each unit had an individual entrance, and Darlene’s was located on the left side. Decker knocked on the door and waited. He had to knock again before Darlene answered the door. The petite woman was swallowed up by a tentlike algae-green smock that approximated the color of the place’s swimming pool. Her hair was tied back, her round face mottled and doughy. She stepped backward, allowing him to come inside the small living room.

“I’m on the phone. Take a seat. I’ll be off in a minute.”

The nurse disappeared behind a closed door, and Decker walked around the generic apartment living room—shagged brown carpet and white walls. A six-foot sofa provided the seating for the area. It was upholstered in brown-and-white-striped fabric and had brown Naugahyde strips around the couch’s sides for decoration. Facing the sofa, against the wall, was a sixteen-inch color TV on a metal stand.

The back end of the living room bled into a dining area filled with a Formica-topped round table and four chairs. To the right was the kitchen stocked with a freestanding stove and fridge, but it did have a built-in dishwasher. A homemade installation job, judging from the carpentry that surrounded it. On the wall were samplers, one of which read Busy Hands Are Happy Hands in ornate embroidery scroll. He didn’t have time to read the others, because Darlene had returned. She sat down on the sofa and clutched her hands.

“Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Decker sat down on the opposite end of the couch and pulled out his notebook. “I just finished speaking to Lily Booker’s mother. I’m not in a very good mood. Let’s both try to be as cooperative as possible.”

“Lily’s mother?” Darlene sounded hopeful. “So Lily is with her mother!”

“No, Darlene,” Decker said. “Lily is not with her mother. There’s a possibility that Lily might be the body we found in Marie’s burned-out Honda. I had to ask Mrs. Booker for her daughter’s dental X rays to see if they match the teeth of the body.” He shuddered, rehearing the woman’s sobs, then looked at Darlene. She seemed stunned, her eyes watering.

“I can’t believe…are you saying…are you sure?”

“I’m not sure of anything yet.” Decker’s eyes went to the blank page of his notebook. He wrote down Darlene’s name and the time and date. “When was Lily Booker supposed to show up for work?”

Darlene didn’t answer, her eyes moist and glazed. The mottled face had turned ashen. She looked ill.

“Darlene, do you need a drink of water?”

Slowly, Darlene shook her head. “What about the baby?”

“We’re still searching.”

Darlene gazed at the wall. “If what you say is true, then I’m responsible….”

“Responsible for what?”