Harley nodded, taking another sip. She felt the day slipping away from herthe case, too. Emerson was not the man she remembered. He had put his old life behind him, and he was an artist now. What had she expected? That she would walk in to find the walls plastered with newspaper articles about old disappearances, an open laptop on the table covered with sticky notes about the killings? Emerson telling her he had been following the murders from the beginning and couldnt wait to join the team?

Well, she murmured, setting down her mug, I should get going.

Emerson leaned back in his chair and watched her rise. Youre lost in the weeds, he said.

Weeds?

He nodded and began to run his finger around the rim of his mug. He didnt make a lot of eye contact while talkingthat was something that hadnt changed.

Youre hung up on this billionaire, this… He gestured for her to fill in the blank.

Lawrence Roth.

Thank you. Youre so focused on bringing him to justice, youve lost sight of the bigger picture.

Harley waited for him to elaborate. When he kept silent, she asked, And whats the bigger picture?

That you still dont know for sure hes the killer.

This surprised Harley. If he was suggesting she should go back to the beginning, ignore all the signs pointing toward Roth, shed made a mistake asking for his advice.

Hes involved, she insisted. Those girls were there, at his place. I know it. But he denies knowing anything of their existence. If hes not personally responsible for their deaths, then he knows exactly who is.

She felt the dog rising up in her. It was her nature to get combative when challenged, not because she believed she was never wrong but because it was how she got at the truth: through debate, argument, the friction of two differing viewpoints rubbing together.

Emersons style, however, had always been different from hers. More quiet, more subtle. He waited several seconds, just long enough to take the wind out of Harleys sails, and then answered, Im not saying Roth isnt involved. He sighed. One time I was working on this bird, back when I used to paint birds. A northern flicker. Ever seen one?

Harley shook her head.

Its a type of woodpecker. Beautiful creature. Anyway, I spent two whole days detailing the spots on its chest, mixing just enough white in to give them that beautiful gleam, fuzzing the edges where those downy feathers overlap. He chuckled softly. Third day, I start working on the head and realize the proportions are all wrongbody was too big.

So what did you do?

He jabbed a thumb toward the window. Chucked it out back and started over. My point is…you cant lose perspective. Start off down a rabbit-trail, and you could waste valuable time. He raised his hands. Thats all Im saying.