Page 136 of What Goes Around

“He was considered a person of interest early on,” Holt said. “But again, no physical evidence. An alibi window that couldn’t be conclusively disproven.”

“And the bite mark,” I said quietly. “That was the only real chance.”

“Yes,” Moreno said. “It was our strongest biological lead.”

“And it’s gone.”

“For now,” Holt said.

Silence settled between us.

Finally, Holt leaned forward slightly.

“We’re not closing this case,” he said. “Not now. Not ever.”

Moreno nodded. “Cold cases don’t mean forgotten cases. We review. We recheck. We wait for new technology, new witnesses, new information.”

“If anything changes,” Holt said, “if the evidence turns up, if a lead surfaces, you will be the first person we contact.”

He met my eyes.

“Your mother deserves justice,” he said. “And we don’t stop looking just because time passes.”

I nodded once.

They stood as I did.

“You have our direct numbers,” Moreno said. “If anything new comes up. From your family, from documents, from anywhere. Even if it feels small. You won’t be bothering us.”

Something clicked.

“There is something else,” I said. “I did a DNA test at home. It showed that Marissa is related to me. Most likely a half-aunt or a first cousin.”

Both detectives stilled slightly.

Moreno pulled out a small notebook, already writing. Holt exchanged a quick glance with him before focusing back on me.

“That’s important,” Moreno said. “Do you still have the results?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll want a copy,” Holt added. “Chain of custody matters, but this gives us a direction.”

Moreno finished his notes and looked up. “We’ll follow up on this.”

I nodded again.

“We’ll be in touch,” Holt added. “I promise.”

Chapter 42: What Home Feels Like

After Berkeley, I went to France for a month.

My mother’s family met me at the airport and welcomed me without hesitation. Hugs came first. Then tears.

My grandparents were both smaller than I had imagined from photographs, thinner too. Age had bent their backs and softened their faces, but the moment my grandmother saw me, she broke. She dropped her handbag on the floor and crossed the distance between us faster than I thought she could still move, pulling me into her arms as if she were afraid I might vanish again.

“My little Inès,” she sobbed into my hair. “You have her face.”