“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the woman we found is deceased.”

“No.” She raises a hand as if to fend me off. Her expression is fierce enough to stop a train. “You’re wrong. That’s not true. Someone made a mistake.”

“We’ll need for you to come down to the hospital in Millersburg and identify her.”

“No.” She chokes out a sound that is part sob, part moan. “It’s not her. It can’t be.”

I drop my gaze to the floor to give her a moment. I take those precious seconds to rein in my own emotions and try not to think about how impossible it is to stand here and fracture this woman’s world. “Is there someone we can call to be here with you, ma’am? Your husband or a family member?”

“I don’t need anyone. Amanda’s not dead.” Gasping for breath, she presses a hand against her stomach. “She’s not.”

“I’m sorry.” My words ring hollow even to me.

Her hands curl into fists and she puts them against her temples. “She’s not dead. I would have known.” Her ravaged eyes meet mine. “The police made a mistake. This is a small town. Mistakes happen all the time.”

“There was no identification, but we believe it’s her,” I say. “I’m very sorry.”

She turns away from us and paces to the other side of the room. I glance at Glock. He looks the way I feel; like he’d rather be anywhere in the world than this hot and cramped trailer, tearing this woman’s life apart. His gaze meets mine. His nod bolsters me, and I wonder if he knows how badly I need that small sign of support at this moment.

He speaks up for the first time. “Mrs. Horner, I know this is difficult, but we need to ask you some questions.”

She turns to Glock and looks at him as if seeing him for the first time. Tears shimmer in her eyes. “How did she . . .”

She knows there’s more coming; I see it in her eyes. Some people have a sixth sense when it comes to impending tragedy. She has that look. The mental brace. The ancient eyes. And I know she has received her share of blows.

“The woman we found was murdered,” I reply.

Belinda Horner makes a sound that is part scream, part groan. She glares at me as if she wants to attack me, the messenger of unbearable news. I brace, but she doesn’t move. For several interminable seconds, it’s as if she’s frozen. Then her face turns deep red. “No!” Her mouth quivers. “You’re lying.” Her gaze flicks to Glock. “Both of you!”

Unable to meet her ravaged eyes, I focus on a stain in the carpet. After a moment, an animalistic sound erupts from her throat, startling me. I look up to see her bend at the waist, as if someone gut-punched her. When she looks at me, her face is wet with tears. “Please tell me it’s not true.”