She wondered if she could get the campus-police report tonight. Because now, again, she wondered if Lucas had told her everything he knew.

Regan made a stop at the campus-police office and suggested Lucas stay in the car. Though the administrative office was closed, they had officers on duty 24/7. Friday and Saturday nights were their busiest.

The door was locked, but she rang a bell and was buzzed in. The desk sergeant asked, “How can I help you?”

“I’m Regan Merritt, an alumna and former US Marshal. I’m looking for a report your office wrote up about a student who disappeared after leaving campus for winter break six years ago. An Adele Overton, a freshman who didn’t make it home.”

“You’re not the first person who has asked for that report, and I remember it. Tragic. I’ve been here for fifteen years.”

“And they have you working nights and weekends?”

He smiled. “My son is in high school. He plays baseball, and his games are always during the week. I’d rather give up my weekends than miss even one of his games.”

Regan’s chest tightened thinking about how much her son had loved baseball. She had missed too many of his games because of work or had had to observe from the parking lot because she was in full uniform and on call and didn’t want to disturb people in the stands. Taking a thirty-minute break to watch, feeling lucky if she saw the little guy at bat. It was time she would never get back and the greatest regret of her life.

Because he was gone.

She said, “You’re a good dad. I’m looking at the Overton case—a fresh pair of eyes, so to speak, and I can write out a formal FOIA request but was hoping to just take a look at the file.”

“It’s public information. I have no problem sharing it with you.” He typed on the computer. “Everything is digital now. Pain in the ass when you type as slow as molasses, but really nice when you want to print out a report. Can you hold tight a minute?” he asked as he stood.

“Of course.”

The sergeant left his desk and went into another room. A moment later, he returned with a printout of the report. “I need you to fill out and sign this form, so we have a record.” He pushed a clipboard toward her.

She wrote her name, address, and purpose for her request, then signed.

“Merritt—your dad wouldn’t by chance be Sheriff Merritt?”

“He would.”

“Thought the name was familiar.”

“Do you have a record of who else pulled this report?”

“Sure.” He sat back down at his computer and typed. A moment later he said, “Three people. The troopers pulled it from their system, a lawyer in Phoenix—that was probably for the family. And a criminology student.”