“But you’re here,” Conor said. “So you think the remains might be Zoe.” In fact, if the cops had a body, why weren’t they slapping cuffs on him?

Jackson deadpanned. “We have reasons to consider Zoe as a possible identity of the dead woman.”

“So it might be Zoe.” Louisa interlocked her fingers on her lap. Her knuckles blanched. “You’re not sure it’s her.”

“No. Not yet,” Jackson said.

“So there’s hope.” Louisa took a shaky breath.

Jackson didn’t respond. His lips thinned to a bloodless line. Conor’s heart squeezed. Louisa didn’t want to believe Zoe was dead, but Detective Jackson was convinced. Otherwise, why were the cops here?

“Was she burned?” Louisa’s tone matched Jackson’s with its lack of inflection.

The cops exchanged a glance.

Jackson nodded. “Yes, she was burned. Dr. Hancock, where were you on Wednesday evening between six p.m. and midnight?”

Louisa recoiled as if his words had struck her. Conor squeezed her shoulders. All this time, they’d been hoping Zoe would be found alive, but the poor girl had been lying in an abandoned basement, murdered. “That’s when she was killed?”

Jackson leaned forward. “Where were you, Dr. Hancock?”

“I was here.” Louisa’s face drained of color, her pallor adding contrast to the darkening bruise on her jaw.

Jackson pulled out his notebook and wrote something down. “Can the doorman verify that?”

“Yes.” Louisa’s hand twisted in her lap.

Jackson looked at Conor.

“Hey, you know I was at the bar.” He raised his palms. “You had a cop watching me all night.” He stiffened. “Does this mean I’m no longer a suspect?”

“No,” Jackson said. “We don’t even have an official ID on the body. Until we do, you are on my short list.”

But if the body was Zoe, Conor couldn’t have killed her. It was hard to do better than two cops for an alibi. “So you have other suspects?”

Jackson ignored his question.

“Can you think of anyone who would want both of these girls dead?” Jackson asked.

“Why would anyone want to kill two young women? It’s sick. It’s crazy.” Two bright spots of pink flushed on Louisa’s cheeks, and her voice rose with an edge of hysteria. Conor rubbed her arm.

“But the stolen knife suggests the association is with the museum.” Ianelli tilted his head. “Has anyone been acting strangely this week?”

“No.” She stared down at her clasped hands. “Was this woman killed with the same knife as Riki?”

“That will be up to the medical examiner to decide,” Jackson said. “What would you expect to see in an ancient Celtic ritual murder?”