“You know you couldn’t throw a rock that big, Danny,” Sampson said, yanking his hand from Danny’s shoulder. “I’m done,” the cop said, standing, the chair scraping loudly against the linoleum floor. He made a show of pulling out handcuffs.

“What’d you do with the heavy rock?” White continued, her voice urgent, like she was trying to head off her partner.

Danny shook his head, said something indiscernible.

“You already told us you did it, and we have the proof. The only thing that’ll help is if you tell us what you did to her head.”

Danny swallowed. “I hit her with the rock.”

“Where did you hit her?” Sampson said, sitting down again.

“Her head.”

“Good boy,” White said. “You’re doing great.”

“How many times did you hit her with the rock?” Sampson continued.

“Once.”

“Stop lying, Danny,” Sampson said, “we have the proof.”

“Just tell the truth and we’ll work this out, we can get you out of here,” White said. “One hit wouldn’t cause her head to smash in like that.”

Danny gulped down a sob.

“Just tell the truth,” White said.

“Two times.”

“No,” Sampson said.

“Three,” Danny replied.

“Okay, good job Danny, you’re doing great,” White said. “Now why did you do it? Was it because you’d had a fight at the party?”

He nodded, his eyes on the floor.

“Great job, Danny.”

“And you then used the wheelbarrow and took her to the creek.”

Danny put his head on the table. “Okay.”

The two cops looked at each other, and Sampson gave White a tiny nod. They had what they needed.

Danny lifted his head and looked at both of the detectives. In a quiet voice, he said, “Can I go home now?”

Evan stabbed the laptop keyboard with his finger, shutting down Netflix. No matter how many times he watched the video, his blood always flowed hot, his fists clenched. He remembered Danny crying when Evan finally got to the station house. No sound was more heartbreaking than your child sobbing. Danny was shell-shocked, asking when he could go home, worried because he had a school project due on Monday.

Evan clutched the bottle on the counter and poured himself a large glass of Scotch. It worked as well as—no, better than—his therapy session earlier that day.

The house was quiet. Liv and Tommy were in Nebraska, seeing to Liv’s father. He’d been causing problems at the nursing home again, and Liv needed to convince them not to kick him out. Maggie was staying the night with a friend. If there was ever a good time, it was now.