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out there?”
    Kate looked both detectives in the eyes.
    “We’re sorry, we can’t do that,” Brennan said.
    “Why not? Haven’t I helped you?”
    “We need to protect the integrity of the investigation and we ask that you keep our discussion confidential. We trust you understand.”
    “Sure, I get it. You wanted me up here just to help you.”
    “No, it’s not like that. We know how difficult this must be for you, but as a reporter you understand that we have to be careful with how things proceed.”
    “I get it.” Kate gathered her bag and exchanged cards with Brennan and Dickson. “How long before you can confirm the identity of the woman?”
    “There’s no telling,” Dickson said. “The challenge is the condition and the fact the pathologist’s office is backlogged with other cases.”
    “Kate,” Brennan said. “Go home. We appreciate your help, and what you’re going through.”
    “I don’t think you do, Ed. Either my sister died twenty years ago, or lived two decades without me knowing before she died two days ago. That’s what I’m going through.”

8
    Rampart, New York
    K ate used the aerial news photo and the Chevy’s GPS to get her bearings for the burial grounds at the edge of town.
    She
needed
to see the crime scene.
    She’d deserved that much from Brennan and Dickson.
    But she should never have expected it.
    From her years of reporting Kate knew that detectives were fiercely protective of their investigations. They had to be so that cases didn’t fall apart when they got to court.
    But this is my life.
    Brennan could’ve taken her to the scene. She’d helped him and he could’ve done the same for her. She’d paid for the right to know what had happened to her sister—she’d paid for it the moment her hand had slipped from hers in that cold mountain river.
    Screw Brennan.
    Kate had endured too much and come too far not to find the truth, especially now when she was this close to it. She’d keep digging on her own, just like she’d done most of her life. She owed it to Vanessa and she owed it to herself. All Brennan and Dickson had wanted was for Kate to give them the necklace and her DNA, then go home.
    She glanced at aerial crime scene photos on her tablet on the passenger seat.
    We’d prefer you didn’t go there.
    Just try and stop me.
She guided her rental along an empty stretch of highway that curved through dark, wooded countryside. After a few miles she came upon a New York State patrol car blocking the overgrown entrance to the burial grounds. A strip of yellow crime scene tape was extended across the gate.
    Kate had an idea.
    She parked nearby, got out and approached the lone trooper sitting at the wheel. He gave her a cool appraisal, watching her hands as she reached into her bag.
    “Hi,” she said. “Kate Page, I’m a reporter with Newslead.” She showed him her plastic ID. “How’re you doing?”
    “Just fine. Can I help you?”
    “Can you show me where the press can access the crime scene?”
    “This is as far as you go,” he said.
    “Really?”
    “Yeah, the others were here this morning. You can get updates from Rampart PD. I can give you a number.”
    “I need to take pictures of the scene—can I get closer?”
    “This is as far as I can let you go. They’re still working on it. The scene hasn’t been released yet.”
    Kate tapped her notebook against her leg. So much for that idea. There wasn’t much more she could do here. She was already on thin ice for using her job with Newslead the way she did and against Chuck’s caution.
    “Okay, thanks.” Kate returned to her car.
    She drove away feeling defeated.
    How could she just leave? It was like she was losing Vanessa again. She had to do something.
    What? What can I do?
    As she struggled to find a solution, the answer came around the next curve in the shape of a roadside rest area. Kate pulled in and parked at the extreme edge, nearly out of sight. She checked her phone. There was still