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"Nothing. Just a stone that moved under my foot."
"Focus, sis!" Kerry hissed.
"I am," May protested, now picking her way more carefully, and feeling slightly less grateful for her sister's ongoing monitoring. Resentment was hovering. Did Kerry have to micromanage her every step?
And then, she pushed these minor issues out of her mind as she neared the door, feeling her heart pound, because this was it. This was truly the moment when she could find out what had happened to Lauren.
Thanks to the APB and the FBI's technology, she might be coming face to face with the person who had taken that video on the day Lauren had disappeared. Who had filmed her sister as she'd left the house and who had then, ten years later, sent the footage to May as a warning to back off.
It was a warning she hadn't heeded. But even so, she had no illusions that they were dealing with a violent, dangerous, and damaged individual, who had taken not just Lauren, but most likely other young women as well. What had happened next? Perhaps this was the moment she’d find out.
Taking a deep breath, May planted her feet solidly in front of the door, raised her hand, and brought down the old, steel knocker. The sound resounded in her ear.
"Well?" Kerry's voice interrupted the silence that followed.
"Nothing yet. Oh, wait. Something. Something," May said breathlessly. She could hear footsteps approaching.
And then the door was flung open.
May found herself staring into the suspicious eyes of a woman who was older than she'd expected. Much older. She'dbeen guessing that she'd be facing someone in their thirties. But this woman was undoubtedly in her late fifties or early sixties.
She had a hard face, with lines that spoke of defeat, disappointment, and misery. Lines were etched on her dull skin. Her skinny shoulders were prematurely stooped.
And yet, May could see the resemblance. The bone structure, the shape of the face, even the color of the eyes, that unusual golden brown.
She gathered herself together after feeling briefly thrown by this curveball.
"I'm looking for Harriet Downs," May said, trying her best to keep her voice steady. "I'm Deputy May Moore. It's in connection with a cold case we're reinvestigating."
The woman shrugged. "That's not me. Harriet’s my daughter. I'm Nan Downs."
Her daughter? Now it made sense to May.
"Where is she? Is she here?" she asked.
"She's not here."
"Do you know when she will be here? Where she is now?"
There was squawking in her ear again but May tuned it out. She couldn't multitask to this extent. She could not focus fully on Nan and listen to whatever it was that Kerry was trying to shout at her.
"I don't know that."
"Why don't you know?" May practically pleaded.
"Because she's dead!" the woman shot back, and May recoiled, gasping.
"I'm so sorry," May stammered. "But she . . . she can't be. We got a match on the facial composite!"
Now Nan also looked shell shocked. “It can’t have been.”
“It was linked to this address,” May insisted.
Nan sighed. "Then, it was probably one of my photos. When I was in my thirties, I looked identical to her," Nan said. “I havean old driver’s license photo on record. I haven’t renewed my license for decades. I don’t drive anymore. My eyes are too bad.”
"What happened to Harriet? How did she die?" May asked.
Nan looked sad, the lines deepening.
