It had been Duckworth’s plan, until Trevor showed up a couple of hours earlier, hovering over his bed, to start looking into the possible Pilford angle.

In fact, that wasn’t the only thing he wanted to look into. Something, he thought, was fishy across the street from the Gaffney household. Mrs. Beecham’s tale of learning that her caregiver was actually her niece beggared belief. And finding out that the name Norma Lastman had given Mrs. Beecham was different from her van registration also bothered Duckworth.

But those things would have to wait. Right now, Duckworth needed to find out everything he could about Dolores, and that meant a visit to her boss, Mike.

Trevor, who’d finally done as he was told and was waiting by his car, ran toward his father when he appeared.

“What do we do now?” he asked.

“We don’t do anything,” Duckworth said.

“What do you mean? We have to keep looking for Carol.”

“I know. You got a picture of her?”

Trevor nodded.

“Email it to me.”

Trevor got out his phone, opened up the photos, and turned the device around to show his father. “How about this?”

It was a shot of Carol seated at a restaurant table, presumably across from Trevor. The lighting was poor and half her face was in shadow.

“Any others?”

Trevor swiped his finger across the screen several times, stopping on a selfie shot of Carol and him sitting on a bench with the falls in the background. Trevor had his arm around her, his face pressed up close to hers.

“It’s a good shot of Carol,” Duckworth said, but his voice lacked enthusiasm.

“What?”

“Do you have another one?”

Trevor shook his head. “What’s wrong with this one?”

Duckworth hesitated, then said, “No, it’s fine. Email that to me.”

“There’s a problem. Tell me.”

“It’s the fact that you’re in the picture.”

“I can be cropped out.”

“I know.” Another hesitation. “Here’s the thing, Trevor. I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this any more.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way. But this is now a homicide investigation, as well as a missing person case. You have an involvement, and I am, at least right now, the lead investigator. And you’re my son. That may taint this investigation. My judgment might be called into question at a later date.”

“Yeah, but that would only matter,” Trevor said, “if I was guilty of something. But I didn’t have anything to do with that woman in the trunk of Carol’s car. And I don’t have any idea what’s happened to Carol.”

“I know.”

“You do, right?” Trevor pressed. “You do know I don’t have anything to do with any of this?”