Michael was looking at Faith now, and she shook her head.

"She got pressure sores on her back. Big, gaping wounds where her bones rubbed holes in her skin. She couldn't ever sit down, couldn't get comfortable. She was cold all the time, couldn't feel her hands and feet. Some days she didn't even have the energy to walk to the bathroom. She would just defecate on herself." He stopped as the memories obviously flooded back. "She slept ten, twelve hours a day. She lost her hair. She would go into these uncontrollable shaking fits. Her heart would race. Her skin was just . . . it was disgusting. Flaky, dry scales would just fleck off her body. And she thought it was all worth it. She thought it made her beautiful."

"Was she ever hospitalized?"

He laughed, as if they couldn't begin to understand how horrible the situation had been. "She was in and out of Houston General all the time. They would put her on a feeding tube. She would gain enough weight so that they would let her leave the hospital, then she'd go back to purging herself again as soon as she got out. Her kidneys shut down twice. There was a lot of concern about the damage she was doing to her heart. I was so angry with her then. I didn't understand why she was doing something, willingly doing something, so awful to herself. It just seemed . . .why would you starve yourself? Why would you put yourself through . . ." He looked around the room, the cold place his sister had created for herself. "Control. She just wanted to control one thing, and I guess that one thing was what went into her mouth."

Faith asked, "Was she better? I mean, recently."

He nodded and shrugged at the same time. "She got better when she got away from my father. Went off to college, got a business degree. She moved here to Atlanta. I think the distance helped her."

"Was she in therapy?"

"No."

"How about a support group? Or maybe an online chat room?"

He shook his head, certain. "Olivia didn't think she needed help. She thought she had it all under control."

"Did she have any friends, or—"

"No. She had no one."

"Is your father still alive?"

"He died about ten years ago. It was very peaceful. Everyone was so pleased that he just passed in his sleep."

"Is Olivia a religious person? She doesn't go to church or—"

"She would burn down the Vatican if she could get past the guards."

Will asked, "Do the names Jacquelyn Zabel, Pauline McGhee or Anna mean anything to you?"

He shook his head.

"Have you or your sister ever been to Michigan?"

He gave them a puzzled look. "Never. I mean, I haven't. Olivia has lived in Atlanta all her adult life, but she might have taken a trip there I wasn't aware of."

Will tried, "How about the words, 'I will not deny myself.' Does that mean anything to you?"

"No. But it's the exact opposite of what Olivia does in her life. She denies herself everything."

"How about 'thinspo,' or 'thinspiration'?"

Again, he shook his head. "No."

Faith took over. "What about kids? Did Olivia have children? Or want children?"

"It would have been physically impossible," the man answered. "Her body . . . the damage she did to herself. There was no way she could carry a child."

"She could adopt."

"Olivia hated children." His voice was so low that Faith could barely hear him. "She knew what could happen to them."

Will asked the question that was on Faith's mind. "Do you think she was doing it again—starving herself ?"

"No," Michael said. "Not like before, at least. That's why she called me every morning, six sharp, to let me know she was okay. Sometimes I'd pick up the phone and she'd talk to me, other times, she'd just say, 'I'm okay,' and hang up the phone. I think it was a lifeline for her. I hope it was."

Faith said, "But she didn't call you yesterday. Is it possible that she was mad at you?"

"No." He wiped his eyes again. "She never got mad at me. She worried about me. She worried about me all the time."

Will only nodded, so Faith asked, "Why did she worry?"

"Because she was . . ." Michael stopped, clearing his throat a couple of times.

Will said, "She was protecting him from their dad."

Michael kept nodding, and the room got quiet again. He seemed to be working up his courage. "Do you think—" He stopped himself. "Olivia would never change her routine."

Will stared him straight in the eye. "I can be kind or I can be honest, Dr. Tanner. There are only three possibilities here. One is that your sister wandered off. People do that. You wouldn't believe how often it happens. The other is, she's been in an accident or she's hurt—"

"I called the hospitals."

"The Atlanta police did, too. They checked all their reports and everyone's accounted for."

Michael nodded, probably because he already knew this. "What's the third possibility?" he asked softly.

"Someone has taken her," Will answered. "Someone who means to do her harm."

Michael's throat worked. He stared down at his hands for a good long while before finally nodding. "Thank you for your honesty, Detective."

Will stood up. He asked, "Do you mind if we look around the house, check through your sister's things?"

Again, the man nodded, and Will told Faith, "I'll check upstairs. You take down here."

He didn't give her time to discuss the plan, and Faith decided not to argue with him, even though Olivia Tanner probably kept her home computer upstairs.

She left Michael Tanner in the living room and wandered into the kitchen. Light poured in from the windows, making everything seem even more white. The kitchen was beautiful, but just as sterile as the rest of the house. The countertops were completely bare except for the thinnest television Faith had ever seen. Even the cords for the cable and plug were hidden, snaking down a thin hole in the lightly veined marble.

The walk-in pantry had very little food. What was there was stacked neatly in line, boxes face-out to show the brands, cans all turned in the same direction. There were six economy-size bottles of aspirin still in their packaging. The brand was different from the one Faith had found in Jackie Zabel's bedroom, but she found it odd that both women took so much aspirin.

Yet another detail that did not make sense.

Faith made some phone calls as she searched the kitchen cabinets. As quietly as she could, she requested a background check on Michael Tanner, just to clear him from the picture. Her next call was a request to borrow some patrolmen from the Atlanta police to canvass the neighborhood. She'd put a phone dump on Olivia Tanner's home phone so they could see who she had been talking to, but the woman's cell phone was probably registered to the bank. If they were really lucky, there was a BlackBerry somewhere so they could read her email. Maybe Olivia had someone in her life that her brother didn't know about. Faith shook her head, knowing this was a long shot. The house was a showplace, but it didn't feel lived in. There were no parties here, no weekend get-togethers. Certainly, no man was living here.