Twisted

prints were hers. The girl explained that she had parked in front of the garage—Sachs could see the tread marks in the snow—and then had gone through the kitchen door.
    Carly behind her, Sachs made a circuit of the property.
    “Nothing in the back or side yard, except for Carly’s footprints,” she told Rhyme.
    “There are no visible prints, you mean,” he corrected. “That’s not necessarily ‘nothing.’ ”
    “Okay, Rhyme. That’s what I meant. Damn, it’s cold.”
    They circled to the front of the house. Sachs found footsteps in the snow on the path between thestreet and the house. A car had stopped at the curb. There was one set of prints walking toward the house and two walking back, suggesting the driver had picked Susan up. She told Rhyme this. He asked, “Can you tell anything from the shoes? Size, sole prints, weight distribution?”
    “Nothing’s clear.” She winced as she bent down; her arthritic joints ached in the cold and damp. “But one thing’s odd—they’re real close together.”
    “As if one of them had an arm around the other person.”
    “Right.”
    “Could be affection. Could be coercion. We’ll assume—hope—the second set is Susan’s, and that, whatever happened, at least she’s alive. Or was a few hours ago.”
    Then Sachs noticed a curious indentation in the snow, next to one of the front windows. It was as if somebody had stepped off the sidewalk and knelt on the ground. In this spot you could see clearly into the living room and kitchen beyond. She sent Carly to open the front door and then whispered into the microphone, “May have a problem, Rhyme . . . It looks like somebody was kneeling down, looking through the window.”
    “Any other evidence there, Sachs? Discernible prints, cigarette butts, other impressions, trace?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Check the house, Sachs. And, just for the fun of it, pretend it’s hot.”
    “But how could a perp be inside?”
    “Humor me.”
    The policewoman stepped to the front door, unzipping her leather jacket to give her fast access to her weapon. She found the girl in the entryway, looking around the house. It was still, except for the tapping and whirs of household machinery. The lights were on—though Sachs found this more troubling than if it’d been dark; it suggested that Susan had left in a hurry. You don’t shut out the lights when you’re being abducted.
    Sachs told the girl to stay close and she started through the place, praying she wouldn’t find a body. But, no; they looked everywhere the woman might be. Nothing. And no signs of a struggle.
    “The scene’s clear, Rhyme.”
    “Well, that’s something.”
    “I’m going to do a fast grid here, see if we can find any clue where she went. I’ll call you back if I find anything.”
    On the main floor Sachs paused at the mantel and looked over a number of framed photographs. Susan Thompson was a tall, solidly built woman with short blonde hair, feathered back. She had an agreeable smile. Most of the pictures were of her with Carly or with an older couple, probably her parents. Many had been taken out-of-doors, apparently on hiking or camping trips.
    They looked for any clue that might indicate where the woman was. Sachs studied the calendar next to the phone in the kitchen. The only note in today’s square said C here.
    The girl gave a sad laugh. Were the single letter and terse notation an emblem of how Carly believed the woman saw her? Sachs wondered what exactlythe problems were between daughter and mother. She herself had always had a complex relationship with her own mother. “Challenging” was how she’d described it to Rhyme.
    “Day-Timer? Palm Pilot?”
    Carly looked around. “Her purse is gone. She keeps them in there. . . . I’ll try her cell again.” The girl did and the frustrated, troubled look told Sachs that there was no answer. “Goes right to voice mail.”
    Sachs tried all three phones in the house, hitting “redial.” Two got her directory assistance. The other was the number for a local branch of North Shore Bank. Sachs asked to speak to the manager and told her they were trying to locate Susan Thompson. The woman said she’d been in about two hours ago.
    Sachs told this to Carly, who closed her eyes in relief. “Where did she go after that?”
    The policewoman asked the manager the question and the woman responded that she had no idea. Then she asked hesitantly, “Are you calling because she wasn’t feeling