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dispatcher. “I need to go let them in.”
    The dispatcher hung up, and the moment the connection was broken, he began to panic. He bolted to his feet and dashed toward the front door, waving frantically as the paramedics came running toward the house in the rain.
    His panic increased as he watched them taking her vitals, listening to a jargon he only half understood. When they loaded her onto a stretcher and started out of the house, all he knew was that he couldn’t let her disappear. Not again.
    â€œPlease, let me go with her,” he begged.
    â€œSir, there’s just not room.”
    â€œWhere are you taking her?”
    â€œMercy Hospital. You can follow us there.”
    Clay ran back in the house and grabbed his coat and keys. He was halfway out the door when it dawned on him he wasn’t wearing shoes.
    â€œNo,” he groaned, and headed back to the bedroom. His hands were shaking as he sat down to put sneakers on. And then it occurred to him that he was going to need backup.
    He grabbed the phone and dialed. He was so shaken that when his father answered the phone, he wasn’t sure he could even make sense.
    â€œLeGrand residence.”
    â€œDad, it’s me, Clay.”
    â€œOh, hi, son. Shut ’er down early, did you? Say…why don’t you come over for dinner. Your mom made pot roast. Your favorite.”
    â€œDad, I need you and Mom to get to Mercy Hospital as soon as possible.”
    Winston’s heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œFrancesca…she came back. She was asleep in my bed when I got home. Something’s wrong with her. The ambulance is already gone. I’m on my way to Mercy now.”
    There was a moment of stunned silence. “Holy mother of…We’ll be right there,” Winston said.
    Clay started to hang up when another thought came. He got another dial tone and made another call. He knew the number by heart. Only this time it was out of self-defense, rather than consideration. He glanced nervously at his watch as he waited for someone to answer. Already four minutes had passed since the ambulance had left. He was starting to hang up when a man’s voice came on the line.
    â€œThird precinct, Dawson speaking.”
    Clay gripped the phone a little tighter. “Detective Dawson, this is Clay LeGrand. If you’re interested in closing the file on my wife’s case, then I suggest you get to Mercy Hospital right away.”
    Avery Dawson pulled himself up from a slouch. “What are you implying?” he asked.
    Suddenly, the years of anger boiled over. “And while you’re at it,” Clay snapped, “why don’t you call the television stations and the newspapers and every other goddamn member of the media who’s been trying to hang me for the last two years.”
    â€œIs this a confession?” Avery snapped.
    â€œYou could call it that,” he said.
    â€œBe there in ten,” Avery said.
    The line went dead in Clay’s ear. He dropped the receiver back into the cradle and headed for the door.
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    â€œDid he really say he was going to confess?” Ramsey asked.
    Dawson glanced at his partner and then back at the road. Driving this fast in this kind of weather was risky, but he couldn’t get over the notion that if he delayed, Clay LeGrand would change his mind about the call he’d just made.
    â€œHe said I could call it a confession,” Dawson muttered, and then quickly braked as the car ahead of him suddenly hydroplaned and spun out into the center median.
    â€œShoot, that was close,” Ramsey muttered, and tightened his seat belt.
    Dawson glanced in the rearview mirror. “Looks like they’ll be needing a tow. Call it in.”
    Ramsey nodded and proceeded to notify dispatch. The flashing blue light on the dash of Dawson’s car illuminated the strain on his face. The disappearance of Francesca LeGrand had eaten at him in a way