Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(34)

“Yes.” Conor made a right onto South Street. “Cops.”

“How do you know?”

He glanced in the rearview mirror. The sedan dropped back, letting a couple of cars get between them. “I just do.”

A few minutes later he pulled to the curb in front of the museum. “Let me know if you hear from Isa.”

“I will.” Louisa got out of the car and went inside.

Conor drove toward home, and his police escort stayed a few cars behind him. The bar didn’t open for hours. He stopped for his gym clothes. The heavy bag was the best place to vent all his frustrations. The unmarked car crept along at the curb as Conor walked to the gym. How would the police ever find Zoe if they wasted limited manpower babysitting him instead of expanding the investigation to include someone who might actually be guilty?





14


Louisa settled at her desk to catch up on messages, return e-mails, and check on the shipment of a sword and scabbard she’d purchased at auction the week before. She also put a call in to Zoe’s mentor, Xavier English, in case he had any insight on Zoe’s behavior. Professor English wasn’t in, and she left a message. Then she reviewed the details for the fund-raiser scheduled for Saturday and checked on the progress of the renovations in the exhibit space. She needed to fill one of the new glass cases for the event.

When she returned to her office, April was pressing a crumpled tissue to her eye.

Louisa’s heart stammered. “What happened?”

“Zoe’s father called.” April handed Louisa a pink message slip. “He wants you to call him back.”

Louisa’s vision blurred with moisture as she closed her door. She dialed Mr. Finch with shaky fingers. How could the Finches possibly cope with their daughter being missing?

“Dr. Hancock. Thank you for returning my call.” Mr. Finch’s voice was strained.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Louisa asked.

“My wife and I would like to talk to you.” Over the phone line, the sound of a woman crying filled the background.

“Of course.”

Zoe had mentioned her parents lived close to the city.

“Is there any way you could come here?” he asked. “We don’t want to be far from our phone.”

“I understand.” Louisa input their address into her phone and allowed the GPS to calculate directions. “I can be there in about forty-five minutes.”

“Thank you.”

Louisa took her purse from her desk. She didn’t have time for another extended lunch hour, but how could she turn Mr. Finch down? His daughter was missing.

She slipped out without seeing her boss. Ten minutes later, she pulled out of her parking garage and turned her BMW toward the Ben Franklin Bridge, battling lunchtime traffic up Broad Street, and followed I-676 across the bridge.

Forty minutes later, she turned into a driveway marked by a rusted mailbox.

The Finches were rural poor. On the edge of a farming community, their one-story house occupied a large tract of weedy land. The roof sagged, wire fencing corralled a dozen goats, and peeling pickets protected a tidy vegetable garden. In a city-block-size cleared area behind the house, the brown remains of plants lined up in neat rows. Six cows grazed in a small, weedy pasture next to a listing barn and a scattering of ragged outbuildings.

She parked the car in a dirt rectangle next to a rusty pickup truck. Louisa opened her door and stepped out. Her heels sank in the sandy soil. A clucking sound came from the rear of the house. Chickens? Walking on her toes, she picked her way to the cracked concrete walkway that led up to the front stoop.

The door opened. The Finches stood side by side, presenting a solid front of grief.

“Please come in.” Mrs. Finch clutched a tissue in her fist. She pressed it to her nose and sniffed.

Mr. Finch, a short, balding man in his sixties, put an arm around his wife’s shoulders and ushered them into a formal living room. A flowered couch and two blue chairs surrounded a coffee table covered with papers.

Pictures of the smiling, young Zoe were everywhere. Louisa leaned over the piano and scanned a row of school pictures. She had no trouble picking Zoe out of the crowd. She was years younger and inches shorter than all of her classmates, just as Louisa had been through most of her school years.

The Finches perched on the worn couch. On his knee, Zoe’s dad held his wife’s hand between his palms. Though sick about the reason, Louisa envied the unity that emanated from the couple.

“We want to thank you for caring enough to look for Zoe, Dr. Hancock,” Mr. Finch said. “Dr. Cusack mentioned it was you who raised the alarm about Zoe being missing.”

“Please, call me Louisa.” She took one of the chairs on the opposite side of the coffee table. She leaned forward and folded her hands in her lap. “Have you heard anything from the police?”

A flash of anger brightened Zoe’s father’s bleak, brown eyes. “We’re frustrated with the police. They say they have a suspect, but they won’t arrest him. If they don’t have enough evidence, how do they know it’s him? I don’t understand why they aren’t leaning on Heath Yeager.” He picked up a paper and handed it to her. “What if this bartender isn’t the right person? It’s as if they’re more concerned with a possible trial than they are with finding her before . . .”