“No,” she said. “It’s like a nightmare, but I’m awake. I can’t believe she died that way. What could she possibly have done to deserve that?”

“Nothing,” Mendez said. “No one deserves to die like that.”

“It’s tough,” Vince said. “A person dies only once, but the loved ones they leave behind live that loss every day.”

Gina nodded, crying a little into her crumpled tissue.

“I’ll bet you have a lot of fond memories, though.”

“Yes.”

She had been looking back at her friendship with Marissa Fordham. Photographs were strewn on the coffee table. Vince picked up one of Gina Kemmer and Marissa and Haley Fordham—probably about two years old at the time—at the beach, laughing and happy, building a sandcastle. He put that one down and picked up an older photo of the two women in bikinis and floppy hats at a different beach.

“How long had you and Marissa been friends, Gina? Is it all right if I call you Gina?”

She nodded.

“Did you and Marissa grow up together?” Mendez asked.

“No,” she said, looking at the floor. “We met when we moved here. It seems like a long time ago. It was like that, like we were sisters, like we’d known each other forever.”

“That’s a special friendship,” Vince said. “How did you both end up here?”

“Um, well, I wanted a change of scenery. This is such a nice town.”

“It is,” Vince said. “It’s a beautiful place. I just moved here last year, myself. I love it. Where did you move from?”

“LA.”

“The big city.”

“Yeah.”

“Pollution, traffic. Who needs it? Right?”

She smiled a little, nodding.

“And Marissa came from ... where?”

“The East Coast.”

“Did she ever talk about her family?” Mendez asked. “We’re trying to locate her next of kin to notify them.”

“No, she never talked about them.”

“That’s odd, don’t you think, Gina? I mean, I talk about my family if only to complain about them. Don’t you? I think most people do.”

“They had some kind of falling-out,” she said.

“Must have been something bad, huh?”

“I guess so.”

“It must have been really bad if Marissa wouldn’t even tell you, her best friend.”

Kemmer said nothing. She had yet to hold eye contact with him for more than a second or two.

“What brought her to Oak Knoll? Why not Santa Barbara? Monterey? San Francisco? All very artsy places. Why Oak Knoll? We’re a little off the beaten track.”

“She just liked it. She came for the fall art fair. It’s very famous, you know. Artists come from all over the country. She came for the art fair, and she loved it here, and she stayed.”

“Kind of impulsive.”

“That was Marissa.”

“When was that?”

“September 1982.”

“So Haley was how old then?”

“Um ... four months. Her birthday is in May.”