“I’ll call you when I know something.” Looping the leash over her wrist, she went back to the barstool for her jacket and purse.

At the exit, Louisa stopped for a deep breath before walking out onto the sidewalk. The balmy day had turned cool and damp.

Detective Jackson was waiting at the curb, his foot tapping on the cement. Louisa crossed the sidewalk.

“I need you to come down to the station as well.” He gestured toward a scratched sedan with a floodlight attached to the side mirror.

“I’d prefer to drive my own car. I’m parked just down the block.”

“Parking is a hassle. It’s easier if you come with us. We’ll bring you back here afterward.” He opened the rear door.

She couldn’t make phone calls to defense attorneys from the back of the police car. Louisa gathered her nerve. “Then I’ll meet you at the police station. I need to drop the dog off at my apartment. I shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes.”

He considered her for a minute. Then he dropped his arms to his side. “Yes, ma’am.” He wasn’t pleased, but there was nothing she could do about that. She needed privacy.

She had the Rittenhouse valet hold her car while she dropped the dog at her apartment. Back in her car, she scrolled through her phone contacts for the number of the only attorney she knew in Philadelphia. Could Damian even help? He primarily worked with juveniles, which was how they’d met. Shortly after Louisa moved to town, Damian introduced himself and asked her for a donation to fund a shelter for teenagers. His sincerity had impressed her, and she agreed not only to write a check but to give her time as well, tutoring at the shelter. He answered his cell, and she was relieved when he agreed to go to the station immediately. If the case turned out to be more than he could handle, he’d give her a referral.

A half hour later, Louisa waited in a small, windowless room at the police precinct. Worried but feigning calm, she folded her hands across her lap and let her mind do the racing. Questions dominated her thoughts: Where was Conor? Why was the detective so convinced he was guilty that they searched his apartment and brought him here? What had they found?

The door opened, and Detectives Jackson and Ianelli came in.

Jackson sat across from her. “Sorry for keeping you waiting, Dr. Hancock.” He didn’t look sorry.

Ianelli took the seat next to his partner.

“How do you know Conor Sullivan?” Jackson asked.

“We’d met on one previous occasion, last spring in Maine. I consulted on a case involving Mr. Sullivan’s brother.”

Jackson’s brows lifted. “So your relationship with him is entirely professional?”

“For the most part, yes.”