“And Foster just happens to dump her in the same abandoned well Marissa’s killer dumped the bloody sweatshirt?” Mendez said, skeptical.

“That well is a public dumping ground by the sound of it,” Vince said. “It’s located equidistant between Marissa’s home and the Bordain ranch. Foster could have hiked out there in those hills. Or Darren could have told him. Or Darren could have been the one to take her there for all we know at this point.”

“Either way,” Mendez said. “I don’t think it was a coincidence that sweatshirt was down there. I think we’ve got to give a hard look at both Bordain and Foster now. Even if Gina didn’t suspect Foster, that doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.”

“At least we know the girl is going to make it now,” Dixon said. “As soon as she’s strong enough, we’ll get the whole story.

“Do we know if Darren Bordain owns a weapon?”

“We can’t find out until tomorrow,” Hicks pointed out.

“In the meantime,” Dixon said, “we’ll get a warrant to search Foster’s home and office. And we sit on Darren Bordain. I’ll get Trammell and Campbell to take the first watch.”

“It’s coming together, boys,” Vince said, almost satisfied ... but not quite.

He picked up dinner at Piazza Fontana on the way home, begging off from the glass of wine Gianni Farina wanted to share. All Vince wanted was to get home, back to Anne and Haley.

He had been loath to leave them that afternoon when he had gotten the call that Gina Kemmer had regained consciousness. Haley had been restless and out of sorts, acting out in little bursts of anger.

Anne felt she was probably struggling with the memories and emotions that had shaken loose when she had witnessed Anne being attacked by Dennis Farman. If those memories were starting to bubble up to the surface of Haley’s consciousness, an ID of her mother’s murderer could be forthcoming.

Meanwhile, Anne was struggling with her own feelings. Between the PTSD and her doubts and depression over how she had handled Dennis Farman, she was in a tough place, and Vince wanted nothing more than to be there for her as a sounding board, or to reassure, or just to hold her.

He knew how she was feeling. He still couldn’t help but wonder if he had handled Zander Zahn more carefully, if Zahn would still be alive.

As he turned into their driveway, his car filled with the aromas of lasagna and chicken piccata. He thought how different it was to come home to someone who could share his day, and he could share hers, instead of locking up his professional self at the end of the day and trying to be someone he wasn’t with someone who didn’t really know who he was.