THE SAN LUIS OBISPO PD was a somber place, kind of what Abby expected. All the badges she saw bore black ribbons across them and the department flag was at half-staff. The funeral was two days from now on Thursday, and today the grief was palpable. The desk sergeant gave Abby a flyer with the arrangements spelled out. She and the guys planned to attend the church service but not the graveside service. For Abby, the handing over of the folded flag at the graveside, especially if it was to a small child, was always too devastatingly sad.

They’d arrived in San Luis Obispo around 1 p.m., and their first stop had been the police station. The original investigators involved in the case had retired, but SLOPD had copied the pertinent reports and interview transcripts for Ciara’s case onto a couple of thumb drives. The interviews that were videotaped were copied to a DVD. There was also a detailed hard copy summary of the case and a box of miscellaneous items, DVDs of copied news footage, and due diligence reports. The desk sergeant told them that since physical evidence was stored in another location, the boxes of physical evidence would not be available for viewing until tomorrow. Physical evidence could not be removed from the station.

For the most part, the reception was cool but cooperative. After the sergeant gave them everything, they received a curt briefing by a young SLO investigator who did wish them luck. When the briefing was over, they gathered the information and put it in the car. They ate a late lunch, then checked in at a hotel close to the college. They were given private access to a small conference room, and there they set up a whiteboard and organized the case materials.

There was a lot to review, so they began with the written summaries and then moved to the videotaped interviews. Particularly distressing for Abby was the autopsy report. Ciara was basically a skeleton, reminding her of her own father’s remains. It made her wonder if there was something Ciara had left that the other investigators had missed. Abby’s father had left her a letter leading right to his killer. The original investigators in Ciara’s case hadn’t found any such thing, but maybe if they looked closely, there’d be a clue somewhere, something that would make them as fortunate in this case.

After they felt they had a grip on the written case files, they began to discuss the suspects.

“Harkin’s interview transcript comes off as defensive and evasive,” Luke observed.

“I agree, but Chaz Considine’s bugs me more than Harkin’s,” Abby said.

“Don’t like the pretty boy?” Woody scratched his chin and Abby knew by his expression he didn’t like Chaz any more than she did.

“I don’t. His mother ran interference for him when the police came knocking. She had him lawyered up immediately, and to me, that means guilty.”

“I noticed that.” He held up the one-page transcript of Considine’s interview. “The police got him to answer a total of three questions before she stopped the interview and called a lawyer. It also says here that the police dog led them to his house, but Mom wouldn’t allow them in.”

“That’s big. And they couldn’t get a judge to sign a search warrant. Mom had some clout.” Abby glanced over the report in her hand.

“What’s he been up to since?” Luke asked.

“There are due diligence reviews, but they concentrate on Harkin; he’s the one they keyed on. Nothing current on Considine,” Abby said.

“Maybe that’s where we need to start, with Considine. Is there any note as to why they weren’t as suspicious of him as we are?” Woody asked.

Abby nodded. “They couldn’t find a motive. There’s a summary of statements made by people who knew the two of them. They never fought. Seemed like the perfect couple.”

“Anyone could have said that about any of my marriages at the beginning,” Woody said. “By the end murder was an option, but divorce came first.”

Luke and Abby laughed.

“Like I said,” Abby continued, “I get the impression that Mom was connected, powerful, and wealthy. The lawyers she hired were pricey. I’ve heard of them; they represented that wealthy kid who was spiking women’s drinks with the date rape drug.”

“That multimillion-dollar trust fund brat from a couple of years ago?” Woody made a face.

“Yep. Maybe that played into the cops’ focus. Mom was adamant she didn’t want her son’s reputation ruined by specious allegations. She demanded cold, hard evidence before she’d let investigators near Chaz again.”

“Whereas Harkin was a dirtbag who lied about his past to get a job. He’d look good as the sick groundhog who killed the coed. Maybe he hit on her and she rejected him, so fearing he’d lose his job, he killed her,” Woody said. “After all, people are often murdered for less.”

“Hmm.” Abby clicked through several websites looking for current information on Considine. She had a need-to-know reason to access law enforcement databases, both local and the FBI’s National Crime Information Center, and she quickly found out a lot about him.

“Chaz has been arrested six times since 1996. Three for DUI, and his driver’s license is suspended. He’s got a battery charge and two domestic violence raps.”

“He do any time?” Luke asked, looking over her shoulder.

“No, looks like the worst he got was a sentence to take an anger management class. He doesn’t live in San Luis Obispo anymore; he lives in Los Osos.”

“That’s close,” Woody observed, pointing to a map of the area they’d tacked up. “It’s here by the water.”

“I’d like to talk to both Harkin and Considine,” Abby said. “What say we start with Considine?”

“Works for me,” Woody said.

“That is assuming he’ll talk to us,” Luke said.

“Can’t hurt to ask. Let’s see if his contact information here is current.” Abby took out her cell phone and called the number listed for Considine.

After she identified herself, the line went silent.

“Mr. Considine, are you still there?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m still here. Why are you calling me now?”

“We’re taking another look at Ciara’s case. That means reinterviewing everyone we can. You were the —”

“Are you going to talk to that moron who killed her? Horrible Harkin?”

“We’re going to talk to everyone. You were the last person to see Ciara alive. Can we meet with you, say tomorrow morning?”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree with me, sweetie. Horrible Harkin is your man —ask anyone.”

“Like I said, we’ll be asking everyone. What time tomorrow will work for you?”

Considine stalled but finally said, “I can spot you a few minutes at breakfast. Place called the Coffee Pot down in Morro Bay. Shouldn’t have a problem finding it. Nine o’clock.”

Abby agreed and broke the connection. “He’s certain it was Harkin,” she said with a shake of her head.

“Glad he agreed to meet,” Luke said, standing. “Now, let’s take a walk around the campus before it gets too dark. Get a lay of the land.”

“You two go ahead,” Woody said. “I’ll order a pizza, and dinner will be ready when you get back.”

Abby looked at Luke, glad for the change in pace. She needed to stretch her legs and they needed to visualize the last area Ciara was seen.

Just then Luke’s phone rang.

“Oh, hello, Faye.” He stepped away from the door to talk. “Yeah, we got here fine. We’re all set up and working. . . . What’s that? . . . Oh, okay. Give him Woody’s number. . . . Great. Talk to you later.” He closed the phone and pointed at Woody. “A local reporter called the office and asked about us and the case. He’s going to call you and set up an interview time. You up for that?”

“You bet,” Woody said.

Luke turned to Abby. “Ready for our walk-through?”

Abby nodded, trying to fight back the resentment. Faye wasn’t with them physically, but she was still present. Why does that bug me so much? she wondered.