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Back 3 a.m.
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  67. 3:46 a.m.

“And then you went over there that night to give her the money.”

“But she didn't want it.”

“What?”

“She didn't want the money. She said she really liked my son, that she'd fallen in love with him.”

“And that's when you killed her?”

“NO.”

I didn't think he had, but I wanted to see his reaction.

“Why did she scream?”

“I pushed her up against the wall and slapped her. Told her what she was doing was sick, that if she didn't stop seeing my son I was going to make her disappear. I dropped the bag of money and left.”

The car slows. I look out the window. We are in front of a small row house.

It is 3:34 a.m.

Twenty-six minutes.

Twenty-six minutes to get a confession.

:16

“Does this place look familiar?” I ask the President.

He shakes his head.

I'd doubted Kim Bells lived in the same house she lived in over twenty years ago, but you never know.

We get out. I tell Red to park a couple blocks down the road and he peels away. The four of us walk up the small stone steps. I am in front, then Detective Ray, then the towering Sullivan in the rear.

“You really think she had something to do with Jessie's murder?” asks Sullivan. “That she would kill her own daughter?”

I shrug. “Only one way to find out.”

I ring the doorbell.

Nothing happens for a long minute.

I ring the doorbell again.

Lights come on. The padding of feet. The door opens.

“Uh, yeah?” The twenty or so years have not been kind to Kim Bells. The thirty pounds she's put on since the photo drip from beneath a pink tank top and the skin under her eyes is a heavy black. She is wearing gray sweatpants. She is twice the size of her daughter. It would have been easy for her. Easy to strangle her daughter to death.

I pull Ray to the side.

Kim's eyes widen. “Connor?”

“Kim,” he says with a nod.

“Can we come in?” I ask, checking the street for activity.

“I, um, guess so.” She takes a step backward and the four of us walk past.

I find the living room and the others follow.

I introduce myself and she shakes my hand limply. Ray shows her badge and I can see every muscle in Kim's body tense.

“What's this about?” she asks with a hitch in her throat.

“It's about Jessie,” answers Sullivan.

The air in the room drops a thousand degrees.

“Jessie?”

I try to read her emotions. Her labored breathing. The double blink of her eyes. The smack of her lips. Could be guilt. Could be indigestion.

“I haven't seen her in eight years,” she spats.

The three of us look at one another.

Sullivan doesn't buy it. Maybe it's a wrinkle around her mouth, a flicker of the eyes. It's something. A crack in the veneer. She's lying.

“Bullshit,” he scoffs.