“She must’ve wrecked,” Enya in yellow says. “Or someone jumped out at her maybe because she couldn’t see very well. You ride slow because you can’t see? And then a bad person is waiting to get you.”

“It was too dark,” the other sister says.

“Too dark to be riding a bicycle through the park?” I go with their train of thought, and they nod.

“So what made you decide to walk through here?” Marino asks. “Did you worry about how dark it is?”

“No because we do it all the time.”

“Not all the time,” Anya in pink disagrees. “Not usually after dark but our pizza was slow.”

“Because you added sausage. Even though I didn’t want it.”

“So what if I did?”

“You got here and it was dark. And you weren’t scared walking through here alone?” Marino asks, and they shake their heads.

“We watch out for cars. And there’s no cars through the park. Mom doesn’t like us walking around cars.”

“We don’t come here in the rain, though.”

“We only walk through here sometimes. Not in the winter or when it’s too cold near the water.”

“Mostly when it’s hot.”

“Mom gives us money for food when she doesn’t feel good.”

“She doesn’t feel good today.”

“She’s very tired.”

“She’s asleep and doesn’t want to get up.”

I look from one face to the other, from Anya to Enya. Or maybe it’s Enya to Anya. Both of them have on stretch shorts with drawstrings, and tees with tulip hems. As I continue to ask questions, they tell me the same story I heard from Barclay. They got close to the body but didn’t touch it, and their eyes jump around as they describe this. When I ask them how long they waited before they called the Cambridge police, neither of them replies, and they won’t look at me.

I ask Enya, the sister in yellow, if she made the call, and she shakes her head, no.

“What about you?” I ask Anya in pink.

“No.” She shakes her head vigorously, and now both of them stare at me.

“Maybe you’ll let me see your phone,” Marino says. “I’m betting one or both of you have a phone, right?” And the girls indicate they don’t. “So neither of you called the police?” Marino asks. “Now come on. Somebody had to, right? How’d we know about it if you didn’t call us?”

“I didn’t call the police,” Enya says slowly in her blunted tone.

As both of them continue to assert what seems a blatant lie, I get a sneaking suspicion it isn’t. I have an idea what might have happened.