“The one you and my sister attend?” he asked, taking notes on his cell phone absently as they spoke.

“Yes.”

“What else?”

She sipped the milk shake slowly. “He was a member of the Texas Sheriffs’ Association.”

He glanced at her. “What?” He pulled up another field and studied it. “That isn’t in the file.”

“I knew about him from church,” she blurted out. “He was a deputy sheriff for several years in Bexar County.”

“I can’t believe they left that out of his files,” he muttered as he copied down what she was telling him. “That’s the problem with cold cases. A lot of times the evidence is missing, vital information is missing. Over the years, things get misplaced.”

“He played piano,” she added quietly. “And classical guitar.” She still had his guitar, the one that Banks had noticed in her house. It was a treasure.

Banks was studying her with narrowed eyes. “You knew him.”

She forced herself not to react visibly. “Well, yes. He used to sit in the pew in front of us at church. I went with my mother to church until she died. Our stepfather wasn’t much on religion, and Tad was just a baby.”

Things were swirling in Banks’s mind. He was making connections, but not consciously. “You never said you had a stepfather.”

“Yes, I did,” she corrected, “when you brought Tad and me home that Saturday.”

He glanced at her. “So you did. Was your stepfather Tad’s father?”

She nodded. She smiled. “But I couldn’t love him more if he was a blood relation to me. Tad is my whole world.”

He frowned slightly. “Don’t you want to get married, have kids?” he probed.

“When Tad’s out of high school,” she returned.

“That’s a long time from now.”

“Not so long,” she said. “I’ll only be thirty-two. Lots of women have kids at that age.”

He didn’t say anything. He was remembering the statistics on motherhood. For a woman in her thirties having a child for the first time there were risks.

She got a look at his face and she sighed. “I know about the risks,” she said abruptly. “And I might never marry. I don’t mind. I love my brother.”

“He’s a sweet kid,” he agreed.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” she said. “And you’re going to be out of town Monday on that case you’re working up. So how about if I come back to work Tuesday?”

“If you’re up to it, okay,” he said. “But you stay home until you’re well.”

She knew his attitude was impersonal, but it was still nice to have somebody who was concerned for her welfare, even impartially. “Thanks for lunch, and for being so nice about letting me stay home.”