A box of tissues came sliding across the desk. Rafe gave Agent Simpson a grateful nod.

None of them said a word, because Mercy was speaking.

“This is your son, isn’t he?” she asked. “I hope so, because you’re my last hope. I need to find him. He’s been missing for a month now, and I’m worried sick. I can’t sleep or eat or . . .”

Belinda Franklin reached for the locket. “My son,” she said thickly.

“Yes. Your son.”

“You’re his wife.”

“Yes. I am.”

Belinda looked away from Mercy’s camera. “Who’s she?”

“That’s Beth, one of my friends. She’s helping me find Harry. Like I said, I’ve been worried sick. I haven’t slept in weeks and she didn’t think I was safe to drive. She’s been nice enough to help me search. She found you here. We . . . we went to your old house, but it was sold.”

Hunter turned to them. “How did she know that?”

Rafe met his gaze directly. “From me. I’ve been working the case on my own.”

Hunter’s lips quirked up. “Of course you have. Wouldn’t have expected anything different.”

Belinda looked down at Mercy’s feet, drawing their attention back to the phone screen. “And that?”

“That’s Rory,” Mercy said, and there was a smile in her voice. “My cat. Harry gave him to me. Rory’s a comfort to me, especially with Harry gone missing. Beth thought I should bring him, just in case you can’t help me find him. I’m . . . well, I’m at the end of my rope.”

Belinda nodded once, then turned to stare out the window. “I don’t know where he is.”

“Oh.” Mercy blew out a breath, and then the picture moved again, settling out as she lifted the cat from his carrier and onto her lap. “I was afraid of that.”

A few beats of silence passed, and then Liza spoke up, off camera. “It must have been hard to leave your house behind. It looked like a real nice place. But this is really nice, too. I love your view. Harry said that you seemed happy here. That he takes you for walks when he visits you.”

“What’s she saying?” Gideon asked harshly.

“There’s a picture of Mrs. Franklin in a wheelchair sitting next to one of the benches outside,” Simpson said, a smile playing on her lips. “There’s a man on the bench. You can’t see the man’s face, but he has his arm around her shoulders. It’s a good guess. Hunter, your lady friend is on the ball.”

“Yes, she is,” Hunter murmured.

“He’s a good boy,” Belinda said sullenly. “When he visits.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Mercy asked, still playing her part well.

“Dunno,” was Belinda’s reply.

“It’s important,” Mercy pleaded softly. “I think something awful happened to him. He’s never been missing for this long.”

The old woman was quiet again, then asked, “You got kids?”

Mercy’s hands, visible from the camera angle, clenched in Rory’s fur. “No. I’m . . . we . . . No. I wasn’t blessed with children.”