While the officers were still scribbling on their pads, Logan demanded a list of the people who had attended the party. He wanted names and phone numbers of the guests, the staff, as well as the band members, florists, and wait staff. Who were the delivery men? With what agency did Katherine book the entertainment? What about the baker and the ice sculptor? Were there any reporters or photographers present?

Who was Ginny Slade? Where did she come from? Did she have any family? What were her references?

What was her relationship with Zach?

“She has none!” Katherine said emphatically, her cool confidence shattered. Eyes rimmed with streaking mascara, she glared at the detective sergeant. “Zach isn’t involved in-”

“He’s missing, isn’t he?” Logan countered, his lips thinning thoughtfully. “You call that a coincidence?”

“For Christ’s sake, he’s only seventeen. How could he be behind something like this? He was probably kidnapped as well,” Witt interjected, and Logan sent him a harsh look that silently called him a fool.

“That boy’s been in and out of trouble since he was twelve, Witt. Face it. I’ve had to cover his ass more times than I can count.”

“Nothing like this,” Witt said quietly, though deep inside he felt a gut-wrenching fear that Logan was right. Zach had a chip on his shoulder the size of Nevada and he’d never gotten along with anyone in the family-even London, though the precocious child had hung on his every word. “You know who you’ve got to arrest, Logan. Polidori is behind this one.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Like hell!” Witt growled, suddenly snapping. The tension in the room was getting to him and he felt as if his nerves were strung as tight as winch cables.

Logan, still staring at Witt as if he were a buffoon, ran a gnarled hand through his snow-white hair.