My moment of cowardice was as much about my near arrest as about our breakup. But I don’t think that matters so I don’t feel bad about leaving that part out.

Much.

“And did you touch the baby, or the bag, or anything in the locker room?”

“No. I already told you that.”

“It’s for the recording.” My mom nods at her phone. “Did you see anyone else in or around the girls’ locker room?”

“No.”

“Do you know of anyone at Clifford High who is or was pregnant? Students or teachers?”

“Yeah. Mrs. Torres, my precalculus teacher, is pregnant, but she’s not showing yet. She’s left class to throw up twice this week, though. And Lilly Copeland. She’s a senior. She’s about to pop.”

“Okay.” My mother writes down both names. “Did you see anything else out of the ordinary in the locker room, other than the blood and the duffel bag?”

“Yes. There was a distinct lack of mildew.”

Another frown. “Beck …”

“No. Nothing else out of the ordinary.”

“Great. Thanks, Beckett, you’ve been a lot of help,” she says as she stops the recording.

The words feel like professional courtesy. More like Lieutenant Bergen than like Mom.

“I have to ask you not to speak to anyone about what happened today. About what you saw in the locker room. Out of respect for that poor baby and its family. And for the integrity of the investigation. Do you understand?”

“Of course.” I stand and sling my bag over my shoulder, assuming I’m free to go. “What’s going to happen now? What are you guys going to do?”

“Well, while we wait for the results from the coroner, we’re going to try to find the baby’s parents.”

“By questioning students and teachers?”

“By interviewing them, yes. And by analyzing the evidence at the … at the scene.”

“The blood and the duffel bag?”

“And whatever the baby was wrapped in. And any security footage we can find. Though it turns out there are no cameras facing the locker room door.”

“What will you do when you find them? The parents?”

“Maybe nothing more than offer counseling. We don’t know that any crime was committed. It’s possible the baby died of natural causes.”

“It’s premature, isn’t it? That’s why it was so small and red?”

“I think so. The coroner will be able to tell for sure.” My mother finally stands and signals to Officer Green that he can go. “I’m sorry about Jake,” she says as the door closes behind the other officer. “What happened?”

I shrug. “We’re teenagers. We get bored.”

My mom wears skepticism like a second badge. “Well, I’ll be home tonight, if you want to talk about it.”