“So far her brain activity appears to be normal,” Vince said. “But there are a lot of factors that could weigh against us. That kind of trauma, that young a child—a kid might block that out for the rest of their life just out of self-preservation.”

“If she comes around, do you think Anne might be able to help us with her?” Mendez asked.

Vince’s instinctive reaction was to say no. Not because he didn’t think his wife was capable of helping. Quite the opposite was true. Anne had a gift with kids. He had encouraged her to go back to school to finish her degree in child psychology. But his first instinct was to protect her. She had been through enough. He didn’t want her pulled into another murder investigation.

“Isn’t that the job of Child Protective Services?”

“This seems out of their league,” Mendez said.

This was a mostly rural county with a lower-than-average crime rate. Oak Knoll, with a population of roughly twenty thousand (not counting college students), was the Big Town. Crime here routinely consisted of small-time drug deals, burglary, the odd assault, a murder now and again.

There was no Oak Knoll Police Department. The city contracted with the sheriff’s office for their needs. There was no dedicated homicide division within the SO, but a group of detectives who worked all manner of crimes. County Child Protective Services had no psychologist on staff. They had a small administrative group, two full-time social workers, and a number of volunteers. Anne was one of only two court-appointed special advocates for children in the county.

All of these things would change as more people were enticed north out of the LA sprawl. But for now life in the Oak Knoll environs remained more or less idyllic.

“Technically it’s their call,” Dixon said. “I’ve spoken with the director. The protocol would be to try to find a relative. In the absence of a relative, the child would be put into foster care.”

“How many people are going to want to bring the only living witness to a violent murder into their home?” Detective Trammell asked.

“Is there any sign of family anywhere?” Mendez asked.

“Not so far,” Dixon said. “We didn’t find an address book in the house. We didn’t find a birth certificate for the child or a social security card for the woman. I want you to start checking around the local banks to see if Marissa Fordham had a safe deposit box somewhere.”

“We get the birth certificate, we get the name of the father, we get our number one suspect,” Mendez said.

“That might be why you haven’t found a birth certificate,” Vince suggested. “The neighbor, who was allegedly a close friend, doesn’t know who the girl’s father is.”

“Can you see a woman—or anyone—confiding in that guy?” Hicks asked. “There is one strange dude.”