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Detective, I can’t be successful at anything I do in this field.”
    “But surely the situation is different now. The girl has disappeared. If something she said can help us find her, then you owe it to Rachel to tell us.”
    Carver shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s not true at all.”
    “Dr. Carver, this girl could be in serious danger,” Stride insisted.
    “Detective, I know nothing whatsoever that could help you find her. Believe me.”
    “You were telling people at school today that you thought we would never find Rachel. Why? What makes you think that?”
    “You didn’t find Kerry,” Carver replied.
    “Do you have reason to think the two cases are related?”
    “No, I didn’t mean to imply that at all. I have no reason to think so.”
    “And yet you seem certain we won’t find Rachel,” Stride repeated.
    “I’m not certain that she would want to be found,” Carver said.
    Stride’s eyes narrowed. He pushed himself out of the recliner and leaned over the desk, with both hands gripping the edge. He towered over Carver, and he wanted her to feel every inch of his presence. “If you have information, Dr. Carver, I want to know what it is. Don’t make me get a warrant for your arrest.”
    Carver didn’t quaver. She met his eyes and glared at him. “Go ahead, Detective. You can’t arrest me for speculations, and you can’t make me tell you what I don’t know. I told you before, and I’ll tell you again. I don’t know where Rachel is. I don’t know what happened to her. I have no information that would help you find her.”
    “But you think she’s alive,” Stride said. “You think she left voluntarily.”
    “Here’s what I think, Detective. In six months, Rachel Deese will be eighteen years old. At that point, even if you find her, you won’t be able to bring her back.”
    Stride shook his head. “You’re not helping her by staying silent. If she ran away—if she had reason to run away—I need to know it. Look, I’ve met her mother. I know what a battle royal it was between them all the time. But if she’s on her own, alone, she could get into serious trouble. Do I have to tell you what it’s like for most teenage runaways? How many end up homeless? How many get into prostitution?”
    For a moment, he thought he might win. He saw an instant of weakness in Carver’s eyes. She knew he was telling the truth. Then, like a mask, the steel came back down over her eyes.
    “I’m sorry, Detective. I don’t know anything that can help you. Whatever I told people, it’s just my personal opinion.”
    “And that is?” Stride asked.
    Carver shrugged. “Just like I said. You’ll never find her.”
     
     
     

Chapter 7
     
     
    Heather Hubble turned right off Highway 53 and onto a nondescript dirt road about ten miles northwest of Duluth. Her car rocked and bounced on the rutted surface. On the seat beside her, Lissa, her six-year-old daughter, rocked along with the car.
    It was late Thursday afternoon. She wanted to take advantage of the waning light and the lengthening shadows for her photographs of the ruined barn. She had been waiting until the fall colors surrounding her were well past prime. The bright red leaves had turned to rust. The yellows were pale and greenish. Many of the leaves had already fallen and would be littering the field around the barn. That was perfect. The barn, too, was in the advanced stages of decay. The images in her photographs would reinforce each other.
    “I like this road, Mommy,” Lissa said, jumping up and down in her seat. “It’s bouncy and it’s pretty.”
    Lissa pushed her nose against the window, staring into the trees. There was a steady rain of dried leaves floating in the air.
    “How much farther?” Lissa asked impatiently.
    “It’s not far now,” Heather said.
    They rounded a bend, and the barn loomed out of the field on the left side. It was beautiful and romantic in Heather’s eyes; in reality it was a wreck, long since