Katie nodded. There was nothing else she could do. She stood. “Thank you,” she said to Ryder. It somewhat pained her, but she turned to Dan Oliver, who had risen as well, and said “Thank you” again.

Ryder also rose. They all just stood there for a few seconds, and Katie turned to leave at last but then turned back.

“Are you a cop here now?” she asked Dan.

He seemed to take a long time to answer. “Private investigator.”

“Ah. Well, please, don’t forget, if I can give you anything at all, do call me.”

She didn’t ask them to keep her abreast of any information.

She was just a civilian. They wouldn’t tell her anything.

She headed out of the office and the police station at last.

Outside, she walked to her car, a little SUV that allowed her to tool around the city, including the French Quarter, with comparative ease.

Sitting in the vehicle, she couldn’t help but relive the awful day when her parents had been killed. And the trial when George had been accused of the Orlando murders.

Something inside told her the killer was the same.

And while a half dozen law-enforcement agencies had searched for information on Dr. Neil Browne and Jennie, nothing, nothing had been discovered on them. They might have been ghosts—except they hadn’t been. They’d been flesh and blood.

They had either become shark food in the Atlantic, or...

They had been the killers. George said he didn’t know much about them. Yes, he had said they were friends. He and Anita had met them at a dockside bar in Coconut Grove. They’d been so nice. They’d claimed they were from New York. Thinking back, he’d never even asked if they were from New York State or New York City. They had simply been so friendly, so engaging, that George had asked her dad if it was all right to ask them out on the diving adventure they’d planned.

She was startled, jumping in the driver’s seat, by a tap on her window.

She turned. It was Dan Oliver.

Katie rolled down the window.

“It’s the same guy,” he said flatly. “Or duo. I don’t think more than two people could be involved.”

“George didn’t do it,” she said.

He shrugged. “Let’s hope he didn’t. I mean, your testimony was so passionate, I’m pretty sure it’s the reason he got off.”

She forced a smile over clenched teeth.

“Or he might have gotten off because you had nothing but circumstantial evidence.”

“Well, if it proves he’s not in New Orleans, I’ll believe you.”