“Do you have news about our daughter?” Barbara asked, her hands wringing in her lap.
Eve looked at Caine. He nodded his head to indicate for her to proceed. It was best that everything came from her. No one would appreciate his input. Not now. Not when the girl’s slaying was so fresh in their minds.
Setting her kit down, Eve slid out some autopsy photos of Lillian from the manila envelope she’d been carrying under her arm. She set one of the photos, a facial shot, on the coffee table in front of the Crawfords.
“Is this your daughter Lillian?”
They both looked down at the black-and-white photo of the dead girl’s face. By the wave of horror that surged over him, Caine had no doubt that they recognized the dead girl to be their daughter, Lillian Crawford. He could taste their anguish in the air. It was bitter.
Barbara covered her face in her hands and sobbed. The father just stared down at the photo, unmoving, his hands curled over his knees like claws.
“How did she die? Can we see her?”
Eve picked up the photo from the table and slid it back into the envelope. “She was murdered, sir, out of town.”
He looked up at her then, and even from across the room, Caine could see the pain in the man’s eyes. Caine had no doubt that neither parent was involved in the girl’s death. They may have pushed her away, or misunderstood her, but they didn’t contribute to her actual murder.
Barbara’s sobbing increased. John looked at her. Caine thought he was going to say something. Instead, with a shaking hand, he reached out and touched her shoulder.
Turning, she threw herself into his arms, burying her face into the safety of his shoulder.
He wrapped his arms around her tightly, tears now streaming down his cheeks.
“Who did this to our girl?” John choked out.
“We’re working on that, sir,” Detective Salinas grunted. “But I promise you this, we will do everything possible to find her killer. You have my word on this.” His hardened gaze turned to Caine.
Caine kept Detective Salinas’s gaze, his predatory instincts rising to the surface. He would only allow the man so much leeway with his prejudice and hate before it crossed the line. If the cop pushed him too hard, he’d push back, and it wouldn’t be pretty.
Eve cleared her throat, jostling both men back to the task at hand, and addressed the Crawfords. “We need to ask you some questions to help us in our investigation. Would that be all right?”
Mr. Crawford nodded, letting go of his wife and wiping his eyes.
“Lillian lived here with you?”
“Yes. She was planning to move out next year with—” he paused “—a friend.”
“A boyfriend?” Eve interjected.
He nodded.
“What’s his name?” Detective Salinas asked, his pen poised over his small pocket notebook.
“Chad Murphy.”
“Do you have his phone number or address?”
He nodded.
“Was it usual for your daughter to be out all night, or gone for days?” Eve asked.
Mr. Crawford nodded again. “We were starting to worry about the people she was hanging around with. Strange bunch of kids.”
Caine stepped forward. “Strange…how?”
“They wore black all the time even when it was ninety degrees. Black and white makeup, red lipstick. Even the boys.” He ran a hand over his face. “Dressed like, like what’s the style called?” He glanced up at Eve.
“Goth?”