Michael had hated the child. Why had that boy survived? Why not Daniel?

His mother had walked the house in a fog for months; his father had raged and held meetings with his brother Phillip, detectives, and other statesmen for hours in his study. Michael had hidden at the door, listening, hoping for good news but hearing only angry voices. Uncle Phil had become the family spokesman; The Senator was unable to speak publicly about Daniel and keep his composure. Phillip Brody had been a newly elected state representative. The tragedy placed him in the spotlight, and he drafted new crime bills, using Daniel’s case to push them into law. The election gods had shined favorably on Uncle Phil and slowly moved him up the political ladder into the governor’s mansion, where he currently sat, holding court for the last four years.

Right now the publicity cyclone hadn’t started circling yet, but Michael knew it would. He could feel the pressure of the discovery ready to burst onto the front page and national news. This time Michael had the power to spin things to protect his mother. Nothing would be printed in the Oregonian without his okay. Better yet, no one would write about it but him. His editor knew Michael could present things in a balanced fashion and would back him up. The long years of a solid working relationship and award-winning investigative reporting were about to pay off. He was going to call in every fucking favor owed him.

He pulled his ever-present digital recorder out of his pocket and switched it on.

“What in the hell are you doing with that?” The Senator nearly roared. “This isn’t the time for an interview.”

Cecilia looked like a wounded kitten.

“Time for the spin,” Michael said flatly. “You know how this works. You want to deal with the press or with me?”

“Call Evelyn,” The Senator snapped. “Now.”

Michael had already contacted his father’s publicist. “Evelyn agreed it was best I talked to you first. She’s going to have her hands full with the television reporters. I’m going to handle most of the print.”

Michael’s mother squeezed her husband’s hand as The Senator opened his mouth to speak and then clamped it shut.

“I’m sure Michael knows what he’s doing,” she stated calmly.

He shot his mother a look of gratitude.

“If you want to talk to someone, go find that boy. Jacobs.” His father’s voice cracked ever so faintly on the name. “Maybe he’s remembered something after twenty years. Maybe the discovery of so many graves will shake some memories loose.” A ribbon of spite wove through the words. The Senator had never forgiven the boy for living while his son was still missing. And he’d believed the boy hadn’t told all he knew, believed the police had been too lenient in their interviews, and the boy’s parents too overprotective.

“I will.” Chris Jacobs was next on his list. After Michael’s parents. He pulled a delicate-looking chair from his mother’s desk and sat carefully, his heart heavy. He looked at his parents, and his mouth dried up. God, this was going to suck. He took a deep breath.

“I know you’ve told the story a thousand times, but you haven’t ever talked to me about it. I need to hear everything that happened twenty years ago. And every other thought or suspicion you’ve had since then about who could have done this.”

“Mind if I sit in for this?”

This time Detective Callahan’s voice didn’t surprise Michael one bit.

Mason had been standing outside the door for a few seconds. Long enough to know the doctor was tired, the senator was angry, and the reporter used a firm hand when it came to managing his parents.

“Ma’am.” Mason nodded at Dr. Brody and then her husband. “Senator. I’m Mason Callahan, Oregon State Police Major Crimes, and I’d also like to talk with you.” He started to return his cowboy hat to his head but thought better of it and set it on the desk behind Brody. The reporter hadn’t flinched as Mason spoke.

Mason hadn’t met the doctor and senator. He knew who they were. Senator Brody had been a familiar face in Oregon politics for over three decades. In the Portland area, Dr. Brody was well known for her philanthropy and important position at the medical school. Mason knew she’d been severely ill, but her appearance still shocked him. She looked like a thin shell of the vibrant, strong woman he’d seen in the paper and on TV. Cancer? Mason couldn’t remember what had happened to her. Maybe something with her liver?

“Where’s your shadow?” The reporter stood and surprised Mason by holding out his hand. Mason shook it, grateful for Brody’s deliberate acceptance of his presence in front of the distrustful parents.

“At the Carling home.” Elizabeth Carling had been eight when she vanished with the bus. Mason heard Dr. Brody catch her breath.

“Has she been identified?” Michael asked.

“Your girlfriend made a preliminary ID. I guess the child had braces on her top teeth and distinctive decalcifications on her molars that’d been noted by her dentist long ago.” Braces at eight? Mason still didn’t quite understand that. The odontologist, Dr. Lacey Campbell, had shrugged and commented that some orthodontists do movement in two stages. The first when the child is young and the second after they’ve lost their baby teeth.

“Daniel?” Senator Brody finally spoke. His knuckles were white, holding his wife’s hand.

Mason shook his head.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” muttered Michael.