Chapter Twelve
Once more with feeling.
The visit was helpful enough. I stayed at Elizabeth’s house for about two hours. We compared notes, and I had to sit still and watch her cry several times as she spoke about her son. In listening to her, I rediscovered how closely and sadly we were connected. Our shared sense of loss was a bond neither of us wanted but both felt bound by. It allowed me to understand her in a way few could.
Somewhere in the middle of my second cup of coffee, the urge to help this woman overcame me. I would crack this case if for no other reason than to give Elizabeth Ellington her life back.
The same thought was on my mind the following morning when I woke in the office, well-rested for the first time in ages. I had gotten a solid seven hours sleep, and I hit the d
