The detective hesitated fractionally. “No, not a suspect, but we believe that whoever killed Harry’s father also killed your sister.”

“And is Harry a suspect in his father’s death?”

“No, no. He wasn’t here. He was at his college in Connecticut. And he’s been very helpful to us.”

“You’re looking at his stepmother?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, Caitlin, sorry. What can I do for you? Did you think of something we didn’t talk about yesterday?”

Suddenly, Caitlin couldn’t remember why she had come back to the station, then recalled that it was to find out if she could get contact info on Harry. She said, “I just wanted to find out if you had any new information.”

“Just that your sister’s body will be released later today, and we’re hoping to get autopsy results anytime now.”

“But you know how she died?”

“She most likely died from trauma to her head. It was very fast, like I told you.”

“Okay.”

They were each quiet for a while. Caitlin’s eyes went again to the whiteboard, erased now of all words, although there was a faint trace of two drawn boxes, arrows going back and forth between them.

“Can I ask you to do me a favor?” the detective asked.

“Sure.”

“If you do wind up talking with Harry—and I’d rather you not talk about the details of the case—but if you do, will you consider giving me a call and letting me know what you talked about? I’m sure he won’t say anything he hasn’t already told me, but he might.”

“Okay,” Caitlin said.

“And one more thing. Please don’t talk to reporters, and if you do—”

“I won’t. I have no intention of talking to reporters.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’m going to show you to the side door. They’re forming a blockade at the front as we speak.”

When she got to the diner early, she found Harry already seated in a booth, a cup of coffee in front of him. She slid in across from him, and said, “Thank you for meeting me here.”

“You look so much like her. I’m sorry if I stared earlier.”

“I know we did look alike. I didn’t see it myself, and people who knew us both said we were very different.”

“But you’re twins.”

“We’re fraternal twins.” Caitlin caught herself using the present tense and almost corrected herself, but didn’t. Instead, she said, “Grace was more outgoing, talked a lot, always did whatever she wanted to. She was fearless.”

“And you’re not like that.”

“No, not particularly. Not like Grace was, anyway.” Caitlin felt the ache in her throat that meant she was about to cry again, tried to stifle it, but couldn’t. She let out one smothered sob then pressed both palms against her eyes. Her chest hurt.