“You do understand we’ll be checking the cameras.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Officer Oloyu narrows his eyes. At first, he thought he had me. Now, he thinks I’m being secretive, and he’s right. But there’s not much more he can do without concrete proof, and I’m not giving him anything. Even if there was anything to give.

“Can I have any details of the case, or is it all confidential?” I ask. “Maybe if I understand what’s happened I can think of someone who might wish to harm my sister. Whose body did they find? Was it a guest of the club?” I’m desperate for more information. Anything to help piece together what happened tonight. Murder. The word keeps pulsing through my mind, until it doesn’t even seem like a word anymore.

“We can’t name the victim,” Officer Oloyu says. The unspoken: not to you.

Thanks for nothing. “Right. Well, if you can’t tell me anything, and I have nothing to tell you, is there anything else you need? Or can I go home and clean up the mess you made of my apartment?”

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Miss Collins,” Oloyu says. “You don’t seem overly upset by tonight’s events.”

Fuck you, I want to say. You don’t have the first clue how I’m feeling. Instead, I look at him calmly. “Am I free to go?”

“For now.”

“Good.” I stand and clutch my purse, and then I bend down and look him in the eye. I’m pleased to see him move back slightly. “I’m not upset because I’m sure she’s as much of a victim in this as whoever died tonight.” I lean back and pull my collar down. It’s a good way to unnerve others. In San Francisco, where everyone has made such an effort to appear flawless, nobody likes to see such obvious signs of imperfection. Tila taught me the trick. For all she changed her face and hair to not look like me, she kept the scar.

Oloyu looks at the scar with a mixture of fascination and embarrassment.

“You can’t spend sixteen years with someone, every minute of every day, and not know if they’re capable of murder or not. I’ll do whatever it takes to clear her name.” I push my collar up and walk out. His eyes on my back make the hairs on my neck prickle.

*   *   *