“Andrew asked Wayne questions every now and then. But once my husband retired, he left those days behind him and took up fishing. That seemed to work for him.”

D.D. ended the call, turned to Alex.

“Andrew Lightfoot’s father was the sheriff who handled the shooting deaths of Danielle’s family twenty-five years ago,” she reported excitedly. “What are the odds of that being a coincidence?”

“His father was at the scene?”

“His father was considered a hero for entering the carnage and rescuing Danielle.”

Alex blinked, paused, got the same intense look that was on her face. “So … we have Andrew Lightfoot, linked to Danielle’s past, linked to Danielle’s present. Has a family connection to a historic mass murder. Has a personal connection to two families who have presently been murdered. Shit. It’s a reenactment!”

“Reenactment?”

“The Harringtons and Laraquette-Solis family. He’s staged them to be similar to Danielle’s family.”

“But why?” D.D. demanded, running an impatient hand through her hair. “Million-dollar question, and we still don’t have a penny’s worth of answer.”

“I have no idea.” Alex grabbed D.D.’s arm. “Wait. We’re being stupid about this. The boy, Evan. Wasn’t his mother admitted to the hospital earlier today with a knife wound?”

“I think so.”

“Where is she now?”

“Somewhere in the parking lot with all the other patients, I presume.”

They both turned back to the hospital. The fire engines were still on-site, as well as numerous uniformed officers. Patients, staff, and curious onlookers were now corralled a safe distance from the building, where nothing much seemed to be happening. No smoke. No shooting flames. The fire, if there had been one, appeared under control.

“Let’s not presume.” Alex released her arm. “We need to find her and ask about Lightfoot.”

“We don’t know what she looks like.”

“Greg does.”

The staff and kids from the psych unit remained huddled by a copse of trees, waiting for the signal to reenter the hospital. Most of the kids were awake now and getting into trouble.

Greg flashed Alex and D.D. a quick glance as they approached. Then he yelled at Jorge to get out of the tree, told Jimmy to drop the stick, and whirled to grab an escaping Benny by the shoulder.

“We need you to find Evan’s mom,” Alex informed the MC tersely.

“Right now?” Greg raised one arm, Benny dangling from his biceps. Jorge and Jimmy came racing toward them, arms outstretched like airplanes.

“Vroom, vroom, vroom!” the boys cried.

“Right now,” Alex said over the noise. “This is about families, right? Entire families. So if Evan’s gone …”

“Where is his family?” Greg filled in.

“Exactly.”

Benny dropped off Greg’s biceps, and joined his vrooming friends, weaving among the bushes. Greg looked from the kids to the detectives and back to the kids again. His dilemma was clear.