Will unlocked the door and went inside the house. Faith kept the brother on the porch. She asked him, "What's her routine?"

He closed his eyes for a moment as if to collect his thoughts. "She works at the private bank in Buckhead, has for almost twenty years. She goes in six days a week—every day but Monday, when she does her shopping and other chores: cleaners, library, grocery store. She's in the bank by eight, out by eight most nights unless there's some kind of event. Her job is community relations. If there's a party or a fundraiser or something the bank is sponsoring, she has to be there. Otherwise, she's always at home."

"Did the bank call you?"

He put his hand to his throat, rubbing a bright red scar. Faith guessed he'd had a tracheotomy or some type of throat surgery.

He said, "The bank didn't have my phone number. I called them when I didn't hear from Olivia yesterday morning. I called them when I landed. They have no idea where she is. She's never missed work before."

"Do you have a recent picture of your sister?"

"No." He seemed to realize why she wanted the photograph. "I'm sorry. Olivia hated to be photographed. Always."

"That's okay," Faith assured him. "We'll pull it from her driver's license if we need to."

Will came down the stairs. He shook his head, and Faith led the man into the house. She tried to make small talk, telling Michael, "This is a beautiful home."

"I've never seen it before," he confessed. He was looking around like Faith, probably thinking the same thing she was: The place was like a museum.

The front hall went all the way back to the kitchen, which gleamed with white marble countertops and white cabinets. The stairs were carpeted in a white runner, and the living room was equally Spartan; everything from the walls to the furniture to the rug on the floor was a pristine white. Even the art on the wall consisted of white canvases in white frames.

Michael shivered. "It's so cold in here."

Faith knew he didn't mean the temperature.

She led both men into the living room. There was a couch and two chairs, but she didn't know whether to sit or stand. Finally, she sat on the couch, the cushion so hard that she barely made a dent. Will took the chair beside her and Michael sat at the other end of the couch.

She said, "Let's take it from the beginning, Mr. Tanner."

"Doctor," he said, then frowned. "Sorry. It doesn't matter. Please call me Michael."

"All right, Michael." Faith kept her voice calm, soothing, sensing he was close to panic. She started with an easy question. "You're a doctor?"

"A radiologist."

"You work at a hospital?"

"The Methodist Breast Center." He blinked his eyes, and she realized he was trying not to cry.

Faith got to the point. "What made you call the police yesterday?"

"Olivia calls me every day now. She didn't do that before. We weren't close for many years, then she went off to college and we drifted even farther apart." He gave them a weak smile. "I got cancer two years ago. Thyroid." He touched his hand to the scar on his neck again. "I just felt an emptiness?" He said this as a question, and Faith nodded as if she understood. "I wanted to be with my family. I wanted to have Olivia back in my life. I knew it would be on her terms, but I was willing to make that sacrifice."

"What terms did she impose?"

"I could never call her. She always was the one to call me."

Faith wasn't sure what to say to that. Will asked, "Was there a particular pattern to the calls?"

Michael started nodding his head, like he was glad someone finally understood why he was so worried. "Yes. She's called me every single day for the last eighteen months. Sometimes she doesn't say much, but she always calls at the same time every morning no matter what."

Will asked, "Why doesn't she say much?"

Michael looked down at his hands. "It's hard for her. She went through some things when we were growing up. She's not someone who thinks of the word 'family' and smiles." He rubbed his scar again, and Faith felt a profound sadness coming off him. "She doesn't smile much about anything, actually."

Will glanced at Faith to confirm it was okay for him to take over. She gave him a slight nod. Obviously, Michael Tanner was more comfortable talking to Will. Her job now was to just blend in with the background.

Will asked, "Your sister wasn't a happy person?"

Michael slowly shook his head, his sadness filling the room.

Will was silent for a moment, giving the man some space. "Who abused her?"

Faith was shocked by the question, but the tears that fell from Michael's eyes told her that Will was spot on. "Our father. Quite the cliché these days."

"When?"

"Our mother died when Olivia was eight. I guess it started shortly after that. It went on for a few months, until Olivia ended up at the doctor. She was damaged. The doctor reported it, but my father just . . ." Tears came in earnest now. "My father said she had hurt herself on purpose. That she had put something down . . . there . . . to injure herself. To draw attention to herself because she missed our mother." He angrily wiped his tears away. "My father was a judge. He knew everyone on the police force, and they thought they knew him. He said that Olivia was lying, so everyone assumed she was a liar—especially me. For years, I just didn't believe her."

"What changed your mind?"

He gave a humorless laugh. "Logic. It didn't make sense that she would . . . that she would be the way she is unless something horrible had happened."

Will kept staring straight into the man's eyes. "Did your father ever hurt you?"

"No." He had answered too quickly. "Not anything sexual, I mean. He punished me sometimes. Took out the belt. He could be a brutal man, but I thought that's what fathers did. It was normal. The best way to avoid a beating was to be a good son, so I was a good son."

Again, Will took his time getting to the next question. "How did Olivia punish herself for what happened?"

Michael struggled with his emotions, trying to contain them but failing miserably. He finally pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, sobbing. Will just sat there, motionless. Faith followed his lead. She knew instinctively that the worst thing she could do right now was comfort Michael Tanner.

He used the back of his hands to wipe his tears. At last, he said, "Olivia was bulimic. I think she might still be anorexic, but she swore to me the purging was under control."

Faith realized she had been holding her breath. Olivia Tanner had an eating disorder, just like Pauline McGhee and Jackie Zabel.

Will asked, "When did it start?"

"Ten, eleven. I don't remember. I'm three years younger. All I can recall is that it was horrible. She just . . . She just started to waste away."

Will only nodded, letting the man speak.

"Olivia was always obsessed with her looks. She was so pretty, but she never accepted . . ." Michael paused. "I guess Dad made it worse. He was always pinching her, teasing her, telling her she needed to get rid of her baby fat. She wasn't fat. She was a normal girl. She was beautiful. Was beautiful. Do you know what happens when you starve yourself like that?"