“Wanted a father figure, most likely.” I shrugged. “Tika didn’t have one at home, so she was anxious to find one elsewhere. If Greg or Ed asked her to do something, she did it. If Cecille or I spoke to her, it was all la, la, la, la, la, wind blowing through the trees. We’re acute care—not our job to change that, just our job to work with it. So male counselors it was.”

“You’re saying she worked most closely with the gym coach out there?”

“Gym coach … Greg? Yes. Here, may I?” I gestured to the file. The sergeant finally let me open it. I skimmed through the reports. Sure enough, most of them were written up by Greg, Ed, and Chester. Male MCs indeed. “Greg and Ed are both here tonight,” I commented. “They might be able to help you.”

“Did Tika and Ozzie interact?” the sergeant wanted to know.

“Probably. In the common area, during group, that sort of thing.” There was something obvious I should be understanding. Ozzie and Tika. Tika and Ozzie. Then it came to me. My hands stilled on the file. I stared at the three detectives, horrified.

“Are you saying … Tika’s dead?” Then, a second later, “Oh my God, Jamaica Plains. The family that was murdered last night in Jamaica Plains. That was Tika’s family? Two kids from here, two families …”

I didn’t want to compute the implications of such a connection. Then it came to me, the way the detectives were regarding me. Not as a nurse, supplying background on two patients, but as a suspect. The common denominator between two families that met equal tragedy.

My background. Did they know my background, because if they knew my background …

I couldn’t breathe. White spots appeared in front of my eyes, and I heard my father’s damn voice again: “Danny girl. Oooooh, Danny girl.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

A knock on the closed door. I forced myself to turn, stand up, function as a professional. Breathe in. Breathe out. Compartmentalize. Nurses were good at this sort of thing, and psych nurses were the best. I opened the door.

Greg stood on the other side, looking wild-eyed.

“Have you seen her?” he blurted out.

“Seen who?”

“Lucy. Dammit, we’ve been searching everywhere. Lucy’s vanished.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO

LUCY

Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird won’t sing, Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.

Shadows. Shadows breathe. Shadows move.

And if that diamond ring turns brass, Mama’s gonna buy you a looking glass. And if that looking glass gets broke, Mama’s gonna buy you a billy goat.

Shadows. Shadow says, Follow me. I do.