WHEN THEY RETURNED to the hotel, they found that Woody had company. The reporter Faye had given them a heads-up about.

“I want you two to meet Josh Federer, reporter for the Tribune here in SLO.” Woody introduced a young guy. Abby guessed he was in his early thirties. He had earrings in both ears and tattoos covering both arms. She couldn’t help but think about Gunther and the contrast with this young reporter.

“He’s writing an article about us and Ciara’s case.”

Abby wasn’t surprised he’d gotten to them so fast. Orson had told them there would be some media attention regarding their case; it was big when Ciara disappeared and big when her remains were discovered. Abby didn’t mind the media attention. She felt it could only help, especially with a cold case. It might encourage past reticent witnesses to call.

“Nice to meet you guys,” Josh said. He had on his head an old-style fedora, with the brim turned up all the way around and a pencil in the hatband. “I read up on your team. Think you can solve this case?”

“We’ll do our best,” Woody said.

They gave him a good overview, stressing that they had high hopes the case would be solved without telling him exactly where they’d be looking. He knew a lot about it.

“I’m familiar with the case. I was in grade school when everything went down with that sex offender they originally suspected,” Federer explained. “He was a monster. It’s scary to think that there could be another one like him out there.”

“As far as we know, Ciara was this perp’s only victim. That doesn’t point to a predator,” Abby said.

“I guess that makes sense,” Federer said, “and it kinda validates my own theory that the boyfriend did it.”

“Why do you say that?” Luke asked.

“Isn’t it always the boyfriend or the husband?”

“That’s where we look first. Unfortunately means and motive often live at home.”

There was a knock at the door, and Federer checked his watch. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. This will be in print tomorrow and online later tonight. The tip line phone number you gave me will be both places, so you might get calls as early as tonight from those Internet readers with insomnia. Thank you, guys, for your time, and good luck.” He tipped his hat and opened the door to the pizza guy standing there with dinner.

“Pizza!” Abby clapped. “I’m starved.”

As they dug into dinner, Luke told Woody about the walking tour.

“I watched interviews until the reporter showed up. They taped interviews with ten male subjects regarding Ciara’s disappearance,” Woody said. “Of the several I watched, Chaz and Jasper were not the only hinky ones. And like we saw on paper, Chaz’s was also the shortest.”

Abby chewed her pizza and thought about this. “Something in the interviews strike you as odd?”

“Haven’t gone through all of them yet, but there’s another rich kid who bugs me. A kid named J. P. Winnen.”

“That name rings a bell,” Abby said. “I remember from the file picture he looked cocky.”

“The pictures in the file are much clearer than some of the videotaped interviews,” Woody said. “They aren’t the high-quality digital stuff we’re used to now. In a few of them it was even hard to discern facial expressions. The camera was mounted high in the corner, so it’s looking down at the room.”

“Why don’t we just call the original investigators and ask them their impressions?” Luke asked.

Abby winced. “And tell them they missed something that we found on the first day we had the notes?” She gave an exaggerated shake of her head.

“But they’re professionals —”

Woody snorted. “They’re also human, with human egos. And we already know from Orson some egos are still stinging.”

Luke looked at Abby.

She shrugged. “If it were me —I hate to say it —I’d be defensive. Maybe after a couple of days, if I was certain you’d looked through everything, I wouldn’t be prickly. But the first night?” She shook her head. “I want to have more before I bring up something like this. Even though the main investigators have retired, these guys have lived with this case for twenty years.”

“I guess I can see your point.”

“They took detailed reports and we can rewatch the interviews. If there is really something to move on, we’ll call them.”

She put the DVD with all the interviews into her laptop. She skipped the first two, which were Harkin and Considine, and started with the third. It wasn’t until she got to the fourth interview that she got a strange vibe and understood what Woody meant. When it finished, she looked to Woody and Luke.

“Something about Winnen bothers me too,” she said as she got up to sift through some of the paperwork they had in relation to the case.

“Told ya. A snot-nosed, spoiled college frat boy,” Woody said. “Said basically the same as everyone else: ‘Yes, I saw her at the party. She wasn’t drunk. Blah, blah, blah.’ But there’s something there.”

“He contradicts himself. In the first interview he says he didn’t see Chaz and Ciara leave the party, but in the second interview he says that he did and they were happy campers.”

“I saw that,” Woody said. “They accepted his explanation that he was just confused.”

Abby found the summary she was looking for. “He said he was Considine’s best friend; in fact they were roommates until he pledged the fraternity. When he left for the fraternity, Considine moved back home. Here it is, in one of the due diligence reviews.” She held it up. “Considine and this kid, J. P. Winnen, were the only close acquaintances, the only two who knew Ciara well. The others were just partygoers.” She looked up at Luke and Woody and saw two blank expressions.

“I’m not following you,” Luke said.

“Didn’t you see how fidgety this kid was? Doesn’t appear as if he ever met the interviewer’s eyes. He was evasive and cocky, even more so than Considine. I’m with Woody. We need to dig into this.”

The three of them watched the interviews over and over, Abby wishing she’d been there at the time to press the young men, force them to tell the truth. It was late when they gave up and called it a night. Abby slept fitfully, dreaming of grainy black-and-white murder interviews.