“Twenty-four months?” the DA asked, appalled.

“Twenty-four months.”

He let my terms simmer, spoke softly with the other officials in the room, then leveled a hard stare on me. “She’ll pay back everything?”

“Every penny.”

“And you’ll hand over a shiny new serial killer,” the captain said matter-of-factly. “You seem to be doing that a lot lately.”

My discomfort mounted. Not a horse or anything. Maybe something small like a donkey or a goat. The man was a shark. He knew something. But what on earth could he know? It wasn’t like consorting with departed people was a crime.

“Yeah, well, I get lucky a lot.”

“I have no doubt that your success rate has nothing to do with luck.”

Deciding not to comment on his use of a double negative, I cleared my throat and looked at the DA askance. “Well? My client needs help, not a prison sentence.”

“Fine. She won’t see the inside of a jail cell. You deliver her and I’ll have accounting sort out the restitution details before we sign anything.”

Sussman whispered to me again and I nodded, then said, “Can I get that in writing?”

With their mouths drawn in grim lines, the DA and ADA set down to write out a legally binding document stating the terms of my client’s surrender.

I stood and went to Uncle Bob. “Are you okay?” I asked. I could feel a pang of regret filter out of him.

“I failed him so completely.” I knew he was talking about Reyes. That picture affected him more than I’d imagined. “He was just a boy, Charley.”

“Uncle Bob, everyone failed him. Every single person in his life, including me.”

“You?” he asked.

“From that first night, the first time I saw him being beaten by Earl Walker. I did nothing.”

“Pumpkin, he told you not to. He threatened you, if I recall.”

“But still, I should have at least filed a report so it was on record. I didn’t even do that, and I had two cops in the family.”

“This is all contingent on your arsonist turning herself in by five p.m. today,” the DA said.

Taking in a deep breath, I looked back at him and nodded. “I’ll go get her now.”

“I’m going, too,” Uncle Bob said.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I said, worried she’d change her mind if she saw him.

“I’m not sure I care.”

“You’re not playing me, are you, pumpkin?”

“What?”

“Farrow. He doesn’t have a sister.”

“Not a biological one, no, but he was raised with a girl he thinks of very much as his sister.”

“Was she… Were they —?”

“Yes, they were really abused in the way that I described.”

“How did we not know that?”

“She has a different last name. They look nothing alike. They rarely ever attended school. They were ghosts, Uncle Bob. Earl Walker made sure of it.”

“And her name?” he asked, dying to know.

“Kim. Kim Millar.”

I pointed the way to Kim’s apartment. She knew to expect me. I’d told her about what time I’d be showing up and she was going to have her affairs in order and be ready to surrender. I had Cookie looking into private psychiatric institutions. She should be getting back to me soon.

We walked up the path and I noticed a cup on the lawn outside her door. There were also bits of trash here and there, which was unusual for this complex. “This is her,” I said, knocking on Kim’s turquoise door. When I got no answer, Uncle Bob went to the window and looked in.

He turned to me, startled. “Is this a joke?”

“What?” I asked, completely perplexed. Then the fact that Kim had been suicidal the night before sank in. I hurried over and looked in. “No. No, no, no, no, no. We had an agreement.”

I rushed back to the door. It was unlocked. I practically stumbled into something that resembled a clean room at a software corporation. The apartment was completely and utterly empty. I rushed from room to room, looking for evidence of Kim’s existence. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Charley,” Uncle Bob said from the living room.

I hurried back and nodded toward the wall. An envelope had been taped there. My name had been written in black marker across the front. I tore it off the wall and opened it. There was nothing but a cashier’s check to the city of Albuquerque for ten million dollars. No other name on the check. No other indication of whom it had come from. I suddenly knew how Angel’s mom felt when she got anonymous check after anonymous check, month after month. Only I knew exactly who had purchased this one.

I stood stunned.

“How soon do you need a place?”

I turned to a man standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry?”

“I assume, since you’re in the apartment, you’re looking for one.”

Uncle Bob pulled out his badge and flashed it. “We need to know where the occupant of this apartment went.”

I patted my pockets and realized I’d left my PI license at home, so I dug through my bag and flashed my driver’s license instead. “And we want to know how.” I was just here last night. The place was immaculate, neat and orderly like Kim herself. But there was no sign of her leaving anywhere.

He blinked a moment, then said, “Well, hopefully he went to heaven, and he did that by way of heart attack, I’m told.”