Catalina didn’t get many murders. When they did, procedure closed in fast.
Deputy Arthur Evans led the way, tall and anchored, moving with the kind of quiet authority that didn’t need to be announced. His flashlight cut across the sand in deliberate arcs.
“Nobody moves,” he commanded. His voice carried authority, tinged with sorrow. “This is an active crime scene. Nothing gets disturbed.”
Deputy Jake Duong carried a sharper edge. His gaze swept the group, taking them in one by one. When his eyes reached Cass and Harmony, they lingered a fraction longer. Outsiders. Or at least, not locals.
Deputy Brian Ciscel moved a step behind, quieter, heavier-footed, his attention snagging more on the sand than the people. He veered left, unspooling yellow tape from a pouch on his belt, staking out the perimeter with practiced motions. He barely glanced at Lisa as he worked, as if the only thing he trusted himself with right now was the boundary line.
When he reached the area where Harmony had seen the dark scrap vanish into the wave, he paused. His frown deepened at the unnaturally smooth patch of sand. His hand hovered, then dropped. He shook his head once and moved on.
Harmony watched all three deputies. Evans’s jaw was tight. Duong kept checking the edges of the light. Ciscel seemed to be counting his breaths.
Sergeant Vincent Durante arrived moments later, expression grave, his usual easy humor gone. “Phones away,” he said. “No pictures. Nobody leaves until homicide gets here. You’re all witnesses. We’ll talk to each of you, but for now, keep your hands visible and stay put.”
His gaze moved over them, assessing, cataloging. Torie sobbed harder. Candy rocked on her heels. Tosh stared fixedly at the sand.
Evans lifted his radio. “Avalon Station to Air Rescue 5. Scene is secure. We’re ready for handoff.”
The night seemed to tighten. Questions were asked; basic information was gathered. Above it all, the sound of waves never stopped.
Then the wind shifted—just enough for Harmony to hear the distant whump-whump of helicopter blades approaching from the mainland. Deep and rhythmic, it sliced through the dark like a clock ticking down. There weren’t many murders on the island, but when there were, LA County brought the whole storm with them. There was no waiting for a morning ferry.
The helicopter’s spotlight swept the shoreline, bleaching color from everything it touched, flattening shadows, turning the sea into mirrored metal. Air Rescue 5 circled once before descending toward the designated landing spot where weddings usually happened. The rotor wash fluttered the crime-scene tape, tossed hair in every direction, and sent sand flying.
Two LASD Homicide Bureau detectives stepped out, jackets flapping, followed by a crime analyst with a tablet already in hand, and a coroner investigator slipping on gloves. They moved like they’d done this too often.
“I’m Detective Rios. This is my partner, Detective Halloran,” the taller detective said when they reached the scene. His voice was calm, his eyes taking in everything at once. He greeted the local deputies with a nod that carried respect and a quiet understanding that nobody wanted to be here for this.
Detective Halloran was quieter, his stillness different from Zach’s. He had the patient look of a man who could wait for as long as it took for the truth to come out. His gaze slid briefly over Harmony, making something cold slide down her spine. She knew immediately that she and Cass were the strangers here, no matter how often they’d visited.
Rios looked at the officers. “Who’s primary?”
Evans stepped forward. “You can talk to me.”
“Walk me through it,” Rios said.
“Female, mid-twenties,” Evans began. “Throat wound. Body appears staged. Possible secondary marks on the wrist. We have the witnesses secured.”
“Good,” Rios said. “Nobody leaves.” He looked at each person. “Not even to grab a jacket.” He turned back to Evans. “All locals?”
“Most,” Evans said. “Those two are regular visitors.” He pointed at Harmony and Cass.
Halloran’s gaze drifted over them again, thoughtful, then moved on.
His attention caught on Zach, standing slightly apart, wood shavings still clinging to his jeans, his knife abandoned where he’d dropped it, the flashlight he’d used hanging loose in his hand. Halloran took in the distance from the body, the calm, the scraped sand.
His eyes narrowed a notch—not accusation, just interest.
Rios’s glance followed, noting the same things. He didn’t say Zach’s name. He didn’t have to. Harmony felt it settle in the air anyway.
Zach was composed, his expression unreadable. Harmony noticed the faintest twitch in his jaw, something like restraint . . . or possibly fear. Halloran saw it all.
The coroner investigator got the nod to approach, documenting Lisa with slow, precise movements. Cameras clicked, the tablet beeped softly, and rubber soles scuffed the sand.
Rios and Halloran moved through the group, asking questions. Names. Relationships. Who’d seen Lisa last. It was going to be a long night. The air grew colder, or maybe it just felt that way.
Sergeant Durante stopped in front of Cass and Harmony, his tone softening just a fraction. “We know this kind of thing hits hard,” he said. “But we need you clearheaded. Honest answers help us protect everyone.” He paused. “Including you.”
