Coffee in paper cups steamed, untouched, on the table in front of them. Ellie slumped numbly in the hard chair. She felt nothing. Not pain, nor anger, nor fear. It was as if her very soul had died. Johannsen took a sip of his coffee and glanced at his partner, Detective Ray Mullins, tall, thin, dark and enigmatic, standing in the background, arms folded, watching. He cleared his throat. “Miss Duveen, I’d like you to go over again for me, precisely what your movements were last night. With exact times, if you can recall them.” Ellie lifted dead eyes and stared at him. “I was in my car on 101, driving to MÍontecito. I was near Camarillo and it was foggy. I called Gran to tell her I was coming by to surprise her. There was no reply….” Wearily, she went through her story one more time. She would tell it a thousand times if she had to, if it would help them find the killer. “And you arranged to meet Mr. Cassidy at the house?” She nodded. “Yes.” She was wearing jeans and boots and a white oversized T-shirt that belonged to Dan, under a black sweater.
