Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(56)

Louisa let out a breath. Her frame trembled. “But?”

Jackson broke eye contact. He examined his fist for a few seconds before meeting Louisa’s gaze. “Her identity hasn’t been determined by the medical examiner.”

“But you’re here,” Conor said. “So you think the remains might be Zoe.” In fact, if the cops had a body, why weren’t they slapping cuffs on him?

Jackson deadpanned. “We have reasons to consider Zoe as a possible identity of the dead woman.”

“So it might be Zoe.” Louisa interlocked her fingers on her lap. Her knuckles blanched. “You’re not sure it’s her.”

“No. Not yet,” Jackson said.

“So there’s hope.” Louisa took a shaky breath.

Jackson didn’t respond. His lips thinned to a bloodless line. Conor’s heart squeezed. Louisa didn’t want to believe Zoe was dead, but Detective Jackson was convinced. Otherwise, why were the cops here?

“Was she burned?” Louisa’s tone matched Jackson’s with its lack of inflection.

The cops exchanged a glance.

Jackson nodded. “Yes, she was burned. Dr. Hancock, where were you on Wednesday evening between six p.m. and midnight?”

Louisa recoiled as if his words had struck her. Conor squeezed her shoulders. All this time, they’d been hoping Zoe would be found alive, but the poor girl had been lying in an abandoned basement, murdered. “That’s when she was killed?”

Jackson leaned forward. “Where were you, Dr. Hancock?”

“I was here.” Louisa’s face drained of color, her pallor adding contrast to the darkening bruise on her jaw.

Jackson pulled out his notebook and wrote something down. “Can the doorman verify that?”

“Yes.” Louisa’s hand twisted in her lap.

Jackson looked at Conor.

“Hey, you know I was at the bar.” He raised his palms. “You had a cop watching me all night.” He stiffened. “Does this mean I’m no longer a suspect?”

“No,” Jackson said. “We don’t even have an official ID on the body. Until we do, you are on my short list.”

But if the body was Zoe, Conor couldn’t have killed her. It was hard to do better than two cops for an alibi. “So you have other suspects?”

Jackson ignored his question.

“Can you think of anyone who would want both of these girls dead?” Jackson asked.

“Why would anyone want to kill two young women? It’s sick. It’s crazy.” Two bright spots of pink flushed on Louisa’s cheeks, and her voice rose with an edge of hysteria. Conor rubbed her arm.

“But the stolen knife suggests the association is with the museum.” Ianelli tilted his head. “Has anyone been acting strangely this week?”

“No.” She stared down at her clasped hands. “Was this woman killed with the same knife as Riki?”

“That will be up to the medical examiner to decide,” Jackson said. “What would you expect to see in an ancient Celtic ritual murder?”

Louisa leaned back and breathed through her nose as if she was nauseous. “Sometimes the Celts killed a victim with multiple methods to appease more than one god. They would likely have made offerings with the sacrifice. There might be symbols to indicate which gods were being targeted.”

Unable to sit still any longer, Conor got to his feet and paced. He dragged a hand through his hair. He turned to Louisa. She was too quiet, too still. Her face and body were frozen. Even her eyes looked empty. But he’d spent enough time with her now to understand that her ice-queen facade meant the opposite of her appearance. Her emotions were escalating faster than she could process.

Jackson stood. “If you think of anything else, please give us a call,” he said to Louisa.

She gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

Ianelli turned to Conor. “You’re not off the hook yet, Sullivan.”

Jackson tucked his notebook into his pocket. “By the way, the DNA report just came back positive on Riki LaSanta. The results will be made public today.”

Louisa flinched.

Conor showed the detectives out. He closed the door. Silence blanketed the air like August humidity. He returned to Louisa and knelt down in front of her.

“I won’t believe Zoe is dead.” Louisa’s bruised chin lifted. “The police don’t even have confirmation that the body is hers, and they’ve stopped searching for her.”

“They didn’t say they’d stopped looking.” Conor moved to the chair and wrapped an arm around her.

She leaned into him. “They have, because they think Zoe is dead.”





22


Through the glass facade of the museum’s entrance, Louisa scanned the street and sidewalk. Vehicle and pedestrian traffic flowed with the usual rhythm. A taxi pulled up to the curb. A couple in cocktail attire climbed out, walked into the museum, and passed through the metal detector. Cool, damp air followed them, sweeping through the atrium lobby and ruffling the hem of the woman’s black A-line dress. On the black-and-white tiled floor, well-dressed people congregated. Conversations echoed on metal, glass, and marble. A waiter circled, extending a tray loaded with glasses of champagne to any guest with an empty hand. In small groups, patrons drifted toward the arch that led to the exhibit rooms. Everything appeared normal.