“Not good.” Bentz had held out a tiny iota of hope that Donovan Caldwell would eventually confess, that he would admit to being 21. Now, that wasn’t going to happen. Ever. Nor would he ever be free from prison, vindicated and released because of the conviction of another perpetrator.

Guilty or innocent, Donovan Caldwell was dead. A statistic. And Bentz, climbing out of the car and heading into the station house, was more determined than ever to either exonerate an innocent man or prove that the right suspect had been tried, convicted, and sent up the river for life.

Once home, Brianna was greeted by St. Ives, who meowed at her insistently until she fed him half a can of “tuna delight” from her refrigerator. Once his needs had been met, she started gathering her notes and information for Jase. She made two copies of everything she’d given to the police in Baton Rouge and New Orleans. She still wasn’t certain how her working relationship with Jase was going to play out, but she figured she needed a duplicate set just the same. As the printer chugged out pages, she made the call to Milo. After four rings, the phone went to voice mail.

Brianna decided to leave a message. “Hi, Milo. This is Brianna Hayward, returning your calls. Sorry I missed you. Hope everything’s okay. Call back if you’d like.” After she ended the call, an uneasy feeling came over her, and she stared at the phone a minute, almost willing it to ring. Maybe it was just part of the pitfalls of her profession, but whenever a client phoned and she wasn’t able to return the call right away, she worried. In her line of work, she dealt with people who suffered from depression and anxiety and all forms of neuroses, some more dangerous than others. She had no idea why Milo was calling her; perhaps it was nothing important, but still, she worried.

He’ll call back.

Don’t make a mountain of a molehill. It was two lousy phone calls, nothing to get worked up about.

And yet she did.

So when the phone rang in her hand, she expected the caller to be Milo Tillman. Instead, Tanisha was on the other end of the line. “Didn’t you get my messages?” she demanded.

“Yes, sorry.” She rinsed out the cat food can at the sink. “I was going to call back when I had a little time to talk. I’ve just been busy today. So, what’s up?”

“Obviously you haven’t been online.”

Obviously? “I’ve been out. Why?” Drying her hands, she glanced out the window over the sink and watched sunlight play upon the backyard.