"It could be anyone. The medical examiner. Some judges. Even the mayor. But any rookie cop would know it's a murder."

"What can I do?"

"Make noise. Demand answers. Publicly, so you're no longer a target. Another suspicious death won't fly." He hesitated. "Continue to search for your sister. I don't think the police will help. Someone's putting the damper on it."

"But it doesn't make sense. Why would anyone care?"

"Think about it." He was pushing her. "Think of reasons."

"Someone--whoever adopted my sister--doesn't want anyone to know it was a back door adoption."

"And?"

"Crimes were committed," she said.

"Crimes serious enough to warrant murder thirty years after the fact," he added. "I don't think it was just because of an undoc.u.mented adoption. Perhaps someone had a motive not to let anyone know his or her child was not a child of their blood."

"I can't do any more looking until after I bury my father."

"I realize that. And I plan to stick to you like glue."

"What about your job?"

"If I can't protect you on the city's nickel, then I'll take leave."

"But if they are as powerful as you believe ..."

"No one is as powerful as they think they are. We 'will' find them."

Gage was looking down at the photo, a puzzled look on his face.

"What is it?"

He shrugged. "There's something about that boy but thirty-plus years makes a lot of change in a person."

"Perhaps we can find the tavern," she said. "If he went there often ...?"

"I doubt whether it still exists but I'll try. I think Memphis might be a better bet."

"You could be in danger, too. If they would kill someone as well-known as my father..."

"I know how to take care of myself."

"I expect my father believed that as well."

"I'll be careful."

She turned her attention back to the photos. There was one other photo.

Her mother dancing with the same young man. Again his face was only in profile. They were in a crowd that looked more like families than young people.

"I'll have Sarah start researching a bar named Paule's in the New Orleans area."

He nodded. "Let's go see Byers," he said. "Perhaps with what you've told me we can change the decision on your father."

She felt a little better. They were doing something. She wasn't just being a victim.

She only hoped it didn't lead to another death.

*Chapter Nineteen*

'NEW ORLEANS'.

Identifying her father's body was the hardest thing Meredith ever had to do.

Even though she knew the police had identified him, she--as a member of the family--had to do it as well.

She had watched before as family members had identified their loved ones. She had often ached inside for them, even while trying to maintain an objective but sympathetic exterior.

Peering through the window as a tech uncovered her father's face, she knew she would never again watch such a procedure with any objectivity.

It was like being hit in the heart with a sledgehammer.

His face was gray. There were bruises on his cheek where he had fallen, but other than that he looked ... just still. The real damage, she knew, was underneath the sheet: catastrophic injury to every major organ.

Byers, who stood beside her, was silent and patient. He, too, had been witness to this scene often.

She nodded to him. Signed the papers. She took pride in the fact that her hand didn't tremble.

Then she turned and followed him out of the morgue. At her request, Gage had waited outside.

He reached out a hand to her in silent empathy. She held it tight for a moment, then let go. That brief human contact meant everything, made the present tolerable.

Gage then drove her to the homicide unit and they went into the conference room. Gage's partner, Glenn Wagner, was already there. Byers would join them soon.

Wary, she paused at the door. Someone with a great deal of influence was trying to squelch the investigation. The fact that Gage might be taken off the Lulu Starnes case proved that. He hadn't known how far they could trust Byers. Or even his own partner.

Byers walked in several minutes later and eyed her speculatively. "Gaynor said you might have some information."

She attacked first. "Why is my father's death being considered a simple hit-and-run?"

"I wish I knew. The call came from above."

"How far above?"

"I don't know. It was relayed by the captain." Byers glanced at Gage. "Your lieutenant as well."

"Hit-and-run is still murder," Meredith said sharply.

Byers didn't blink. "Yes, but not with the same priority."

"Not even with the fact that my father was rather prominent?"

He gave her a wry look.

"Perhaps Ms. Rawson can change your mind," Gage said.

"It's not my decision," Byers said. "I'm convinced it was intended murder, particularly after the attempt on Ms. Rawson's life."

"There's a lot more."

"I know about the Starnes murder," Byers said.

Meredith broke in. "My father visited me hours before his death. He was worried. He told me ... He said I didn't know what I had done."

"What had you done?" Byers asked.

"My mother recently told me she'd had a child out of wedlock. She wanted me to try to find her. As soon as I started searching, someone tried to run me down. My home was trashed. I received anonymous phone calls. Records disappeared from my father's home.

"I talked to my father, and he warned me not to search for my sister, that it would destroy my mother's reputation. I thought he meant his own. I was angry."

"Go on," Byers said.

"I started trying to contact my mother's friends. Mrs. Starnes was one of them. She was killed before I could talk to her."

"Have you contacted anyone else?"

"Mrs. Robert Laxton."

"When?"

"Sunday. And I visited her on Monday."

Byers looked toward Gage. "Has anything happened to her?"

"No," Gage said. "I checked on her this morning."

"Then I don't see a connection."

Meredith had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Byers was obviously going along with what had to be a cover-up. She had the photos from the Starnes home in her pocketbook. She decided not to show them. She was not going to put the young man with her mother and Mrs. Starnes in danger.

She gave Gage a warning look, hoping he would not mention the photos.

He didn't. "Let's go," he said.

She stood.

"I have more questions," Byers said.

"If you think it's a simple hit-and-run, why?"

"I didn't say simple."

"Look, this is a waste of my time. I have funeral arrangements to make, an ill mother to see."

"I may have questions later."

"Talk to me then."

She didn't have to stay. She was not a material witness.

He knew it as well. He stood. "Thank you for the identification. We will keep in touch."

"Only if my father's case is called what it is and treated as such," she shot back.

She stalked out, slamming the door behind her. She couldn't remember being so angry. New Orleans had once been notorious for its corruption. She had thought that era had come to an end.

Her father had been a part of it. She knew that now. It hadn't been only fear in his eyes these past few days. It had been guilt.

Guilt for what?

Something to do with what happened to her mother.

She thought again of the smiles on her mother's face in the photos she had inside her purse, then of the caution that had always shadowed her face. Meredith had believed her mother just had not loved her enough, that she had cared about her causes more than she could care about fellow human beings. Now she wondered whether it hadn't been lack of caring, but fear of caring.

Meredith had that fear.

She looked at Gage as they reached his car. "Thank you for not telling him about the photos."

"It's called withholding evidence, Counselor," he said as he quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

"We don't know that it 'is' evidence. I do know I don't want anyone else to die because of my search."

"You can end it."

She stared at him.

"You can drop it. Forget it."

"But you said ..."

"I was wrong. And anyway there's no trail."