Cole studied Harper.
She had returned to the curb.
Her hands were folded in her lap.
She was watching ants disappear into a crack in the pavement.
She did not appear impatient.
That disturbed him almost as much as the stillness in her eyes.
Seven-year-olds were rarely patient.
Children became patient when waiting had become normal.
Waiting for a parent to finish work.
Waiting for food.
Waiting for adults to stop talking.
Waiting to be noticed.
"Yeah," Cole said.
"I believe her."
Frank inhaled slowly.
"Don't move."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I'm calling Welden."
Cole disconnected.
Then he sat down on the curb several feet from Harper.
He opened his bottle of water and took one drink.
"Want some?"
Harper shook her head.
"You hungry?"
Another shake.
Cole opened the beef jerky anyway and placed the package between them.
He did not ask more questions.
Not yet.
Something told him that forcing the conversation would close whatever door Harper had opened.
For several minutes they sat together.
Cole watched cars enter and leave.
Harper continued studying the ants.
Finally she said, "Lily gives me half her cookies."
Cole turned toward her.
"At school?"
She nodded.
"She gets cookies in her lunch."
Cole waited.
"I don't."
"She shares?"
"Every time."
That was all Harper said.
But Cole understood.
Lily Ashford was not simply a missing girl from television.
She was Harper's friend.
Perhaps her only real friend.
Twenty-two minutes later, an unmarked gray sedan entered the parking lot.
Detective Patricia Welden stepped out.
She looked exactly like someone who had slept three hours in four days.
Thirty-eight years old.
Dark hair pulled tightly behind her head.
Gray slacks.
Blue blouse.
Badge clipped to her belt.
Her face was composed, but exhaustion showed beneath her eyes.
She had been lead detective on Lily's disappearance since Monday evening.
Forty-six interviews.
Twelve properties searched.
Dozens of phone calls.
Security footage.
False sightings.
Anonymous tips.
Family histories.
Known offenders.
Vehicles.
Every hour without Lily increased the weight Patricia carried into the next one.
She walked toward Cole first.
Her eyes moved over his vest.
The patches.
The tattoos.
The boots.
The motorcycle.
Cole saw the calculation.
He had seen it thousands of times.
"Mr. Harrington?"
"That's me."
"Frank Brennan called the station. He said you have information about Lily Ashford."
"Not me."
Cole pointed toward Harper.
"Her."
Welden looked at the little girl.
Her expression changed immediately.
She crouched.
"Hi, sweetheart. I'm Detective Welden."
Harper moved closer to Cole's leg.
Welden noticed.
"Can you tell me what you told Mr. Harrington?"
Harper stared at her.