“You probably wouldn’t say that if you knew why I was here,” I replied.

   Mosley held up a finger. His eyes watered, his nose crinkled, and he let out a violent sneeze that had both Finn and me stepping back.

   “I knew I should have brought some hand sanitizer,” Finn muttered. “And a mask.”

   Mosley ignored his snide remark, plucked a tissue out of his box, and blew his nose as violently as he’d just sneezed. He stuffed the used tissue into the pocket of his pajama pants and gestured for us to come in.

   The inside of the house continued the rustic cabin motif, with lots of stone floors, exposed wooden beams overhead, and floor-to-ceiling windows to take advantage of the sweeping views from the top of the ridge. Mosley shuffled down a hallway and into a living room before collapsing onto a large sectional sofa. Tissues littered the coffee table in front of the sofa, along with bottles of half-drunk ginger ale, empty cough drop wrappers, and several open boxes of over-the-counter medication. The entire room reeked of sharp, minty menthol, and I spotted several open tins of ointment lying on the floor in front of the sofa.

   The common cold was one of the few illnesses that Air elementals just couldn’t heal. At least, not very well. So it was one of those things that you just had to suffer through, and it looked like Mosley was suffering plenty.

   He pulled a blanket over his lap and settled himself back against the couch cushions. “So what was so urgent that you two drove all the way out here to see a sick old man?”

   “I want to talk to you about Joanna, your great-granddaughter,” I said.

   He blinked. “How do you know about . . .” His voice trailed off, and his face hardened. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? Have you finally found the son of a bitch who killed her?”

   I shook my head. “No. But he’s kidnapped another girl. Someone you know. Elissa Daniels . . .”

   I recapped everything that had happened and everything that we thought we knew about the Dollmaker. Mosley sneezed, coughed, and blew his nose the whole time I talked, but I knew that he was listening to every single word.

   “So we came here hoping that you might know something about the killer,” I finished. “Anything you can remember, any detail, no matter how small, might be helpful.”

   Mosley pointed over at the fireplace mantel. “You can see Joanna for yourself.”

   I got up and looked at the framed photos. Young, blond, pretty, nice smile. I recognized Joanna Mosley from the pictures I’d seen in her murder file. The photo in the center of the mantel had been taken at a graduation ceremony, and Joanna was wearing a dark blue cap and gown. She had her arms around her grandfather’s shoulders, and both of them were beaming into the camera.

   “She was a wonderful girl,” Mosley said. “Smart as a whip. After she finished her MBA, she was going to come work for me at the bank. But of course, that never happened.”

   This time, the water in his eyes had nothing to do with his cold, and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. “I assume you’ve seen the police reports?”

   I sat back down on the couch. “I have.”

   “Then you know that Joanna was having dinner with friends at Underwood’s. They were all going to a concert and were running late, and she stayed behind to pay the bill. She left the restaurant to walk to her car a few blocks away, and that’s the last time anyone saw her.” Mosley closed his eyes. “The police found her body two weeks later near the restaurant.”

   He didn’t say anything else, and for several seconds, the only sound was his raspy, congested breathing. He opened his eyes and cleared his throat again. “Joanna moved here from Cypress Mountain to go to college. She stayed with Jane and me in our apartment in the city. It was such a happy time for the three of us. The whole thing . . . it broke my wife’s heart. Mine too. It sent Jane to an early grave.”

   I glanced over at Finn, who gave me a helpless shrug. He didn’t know what to say to comfort his boss any more than I did.

   Mosley blew his nose again and looked at Finn. “Go to my office. You’ll find a cardboard box in the corner. Bring it in here, please.”

   Finn left the room and returned a minute later with a box that was eerily similar to the ones that Silvio had stacked up in Jade’s office this morning. Finn nudged aside some of the mounds of tissues, careful not to actually touch any of them, and set the box on the coffee table.

   “Go ahead,” Mosley said. “Open it.”

   Finn pulled the lid off the top. Together, the two of us went through all the files and photos inside, while Mosley slumped on the couch across from us. Much of the information was the same as it had been in all the files we had on the other victims, right down to how useless it was.

   “I did everything in my power to find the bastard who murdered my granddaughter,” Mosley growled. “I bribed the cops to devote more manpower to the case. I brought in experts to examine all the evidence, what little there was. I even hired a profiler to try to learn more about the son of a bitch. Nothing worked.”

   I flipped through the files, scanning through all the information, photos, and reports. Mosley was right. He’d left no stone unturned in his search for Joanna’s killer, and he’d kept meticulous notes of everything, including the hefty bribes he’d doled out. Private investigators, scientific experts, retired FBI profilers. He’d hired all those and more. Mosley had even had an independent forensic lab examine the traces of makeup left on Joanna’s face. I made a mental note to show that file to Ryan when I went back to Jade’s house. Maybe he’d be able to make more sense out of it than I could.

   A thought occurred to me, and I set the last file aside. “Did you ask Fletcher to help you with this? Was this one of the many favors the two of you did for each other?”

   For a moment, a brief smile lifted Mosley’s lips. “Of course I asked Fletcher to help me. Who better to track down a killer than an assassin like the Tin Man? But he didn’t find anything either. Not before he was killed.”