Her phone dings. Reminding her she still hasn’t accepted the photos she sent herself from Pollen’s phone.

“You call yourselves the Vann Guards,” she says.

The four are visible in the daylight that still comes through the old sugar factory’s high windows. Reminds McGowan of the high windows in the Samhattan High School gymnasium.

“You call yourselves the Vann Guards,” she says again.

“We didn’t hurt anybody,” Trina says. Her voice is wholly contempt. McGowan briefly considers hurting the truth out of her.

There’s law, and then there’s four young women killed in the town you’ve sworn to protect.

“Tell me everything,” McGowan says. Her voice is granite.

“Tell you what?” Evan says. He’s scared. They all are.

McGowan steps to him. Grabs him by his denim collar.

“Who’s killing the ballers?”

“Let go of me!” Evan cries. “I don’t know!”

She releases him and pulls her gun from her jacket pocket. Bjorn shrieks and they all start begging, even Zach Gold, who has remained silent until now.

When McGowan holds the gun to Evan’s belly, even Zach screams.

McGowan fires at the roof.

The four Vann Guards go silent. But even their silence shakes.

“Who’s killing the ballers?” she asks.

They all look to each other, desperate. This worries McGowan. Do they not know? Can that be possible?

“Do you know what she did to the children she kidnapped?” McGowan asks.

Bjorn is the first to break.

“She didn’t take kids. That’s a fuckin’ lie put out by the Samhattan Police because one of their own killed her.”

“She ate them,” McGowan says. “She ate the kids she took.”

“You weren’t even in this city back then,” Trina says.

McGowan is surprised Trina McDay knows this. Why does she?

“No, I wasn’t. If I was, she would’ve been caught.”

There’s a glimmer in Zach Gold’s eyes with this. Like he’d like to see her try.

McGowan steps to him.

“Who’s killing the girls?” she asks.

“Jesus,” Zach says. “It’s not us. This is insane.”

It is. Absolutely. Madness. McGowan will eventually have to let these four go. And by doing so, she’s sending four messenger pigeons to the Samhattan press to tell them what she’s done. She will go to prison for this. And according to the law, she should. She still understands this.

“I have photos,” she says. “Of Daphne Vann’s home the night she died.”

“You expect us to believe police photos?” Bjorn says. “Look at what you’re doing right now!”

McGowan pulls out her phone, accepts the pics and video. Shows Bjorn first.

Daphne’s stovetop.

Bjorn looks away.

She steps to Evan, shows him the same.

“Fuck,” he says.

She steps to Trina.

“That could be anything…anywhere,” Trina says.

McGowan bends at the waist, lips to the young woman’s ear.