Ian couldn't have done this. He valued life. He saw the divine in people. To murder someone and toss them away like so much refuse...it wasn't possible.

She lifted her head and told her sister so.

For a long moment her sister was silent. When she spoke, her voice shook slightly. "Elle Vanmeer's cell

phone was found at the scene. It links the crimes, Jane."

And Ian was presently charged with Elle's murder.

d.a.m.ning evidence. Physical evidence. Dear G.o.d, this couldn't be happening.

Jane thought of Lisette. She recalled what she had heard about Elle Vanmeer, struggling to find a connection between the women, exclusive of Ian. They could have known each other somehow. Been friends. Business a.s.sociates- Not likely. d.a.m.n improbable.

As if reading her mind, Stacy crossed to stand beside her. She laid a hand on her shoulder. "I didn't want to tell you. But I...couldn't let you hear it from someone else."

"I guess I should thank you," she said bitterly.

"Don't shoot the messenger, sis. Please."

"You called your partner?"

"Yes, last night." She paused. "I had to."

Jane covered her face with her hands, fighting despair. What was she going to do? How could she fight

this growing wave of evidence against Ian?

"The police will need to question you about Lisette. Your relationship. How long you've known her, things like that. They'll ask you about Ian's relationship with her."

"He was her plastic surgeon!" she shot back, dropping her hands. "Doctor, patient. That's it."

Stacy squeezed her shoulder. "I'll stay with you, if you like. They shouldn't object, though they might.

You could call Ian's lawyer. Even though you're not a suspect, he may want to sit in."

"He's in trial this morning. And I have nothing to hide. Nothing I can tell them will incriminate Ian."

Stacy opened her mouth as if to disagree; whatever she was about to say was cut off by the sound of the

front buzzer.

Jane looked at her sister. "Do you think that's-"

"Mac and Liberman. Yes."

It was. Three minutes later, Jane swung open the street-level door and faced the detectives.

"Morning, Mrs. Westbrook. Stacy."

"Mac," Stacy replied. "Liberman." She returned her gaze to her partner. "May I stay with my sister?"

Mac glanced at the other man, who shrugged. "Okay. Just remember you're present as family, not-"

"Part of the investigation. I know the drill."

As Stacy had advised her they would, they began inquiring about when and how she had first met Lisette,

then what she knew of her private life.

"Was she seeing anyone special?" Mac asked.

"No, not when I interviewed her."

"She dated around?"

"No, not much."

"That seems odd. She was an attractive woman."

"She was shy. Insecure about her appearance."

"Insecure about her appearance?" he repeated. "A looker like her? Why?"

"It's not so hard to understand. Girls' ident.i.ties are intertwined with their appearance from an early age, a

few negative comments from someone whose opinion is important to them can damage their

self-concept. Throw in intense cultural pressure to look a certain way or weigh a certain amount and you

get a woman with a skewed self-image."

"And that skewed self-image can lead to problems?"

"Yes."

"Like what?"

Jane sensed he knew perfectly well what kind but that he was deliberately leading her. "Eating disorders.

Anorexia nervosa. Bulimia. s.e.x addiction."

"Or addiction to plastic surgery?"

She stiffened. "Yes."

"Did Lisette Gregory suffer with any of those?"

"Yes, though she was working with a therapist. And making progress."

"Her therapist's name?"

Jane thought a moment, then shook her head. "I never asked."

"In Lisette's case, those negative comments came from who?"

Jane shifted, uncomfortable. "Her father. She was a chubby youngster and apparently her father was

quite cruel."

"What does that mean? Exactly?"

"Perhaps you should view my show. Get it straight from her."

He met her eyes. Something in them chilled her. Did he think she had something to do with Lisette's

death?

"I will," he said. "Was her father a part of her life?"

"Her father's dead."

He jotted that fact in his notebook. "You have an address for her?"

"Of course. In a computer database in my studio."

"Can anyone access the database?"

She frowned, confused. "I guess. It's not pa.s.sword-restricted, if that's what you mean. But who would

want..."

She let the words trail off, the answer to who would want the woman's address obvious: a murderer.

"Ms. Gregory was a patient of your husband's?"

She hesitated. "Yes."

"I sense some uncertainty. Was she? Or not?"

Her cheeks flamed. "She was. Yes."

"But that's not how you met her?"

"No."

"Is that typical?"

"Typical? I don't follow."

"Are many of your subjects also patients of your husband's?"

She struggled to keep her discomfort from showing. "Not many, no."

"You called Lisette Gregory on Monday. Why?"

Jane stared at the man, heart beginning to thump painfully in her chest. "Pardon me?"

"You left a message for the woman to call you. Said it was important. You sounded...upset."

She had forgotten. Guilty heat stung her cheeks. "I wanted to make certain she had received an invitation

to my opening."