The car pulls out into the traffic, Jeff at the wheel, me at the crossroads of life. To make a turn I must first of all leave the road I’m on behind me. But will I be able to move on? Say goodbye to everything I know or will I want to stay here in the comfort of the familiar? Time will tell.

The precinct car lot is full when we arrive, so Jeff drops me off, telling me to go on inside while he parks the car out on the street. I’m not nervous, not like before when everything would shake and shiver like I was dancing through these doors. Going straight to the cop working the front desk, I ask to see Detective Turner. He looks bored, worn out, I’m not sure which, but I can tell he is readying himself to tell me I have to wait. Before he gets to say a word I speak.

‘She’ll want to see me ASAP,’ I say. ‘Tell her it’s Louise Johnson, tell her I have the untraceable cell.’

Chapter Sixty-Two

The following ten minutes drag like I’m waiting for the results of a cancer test. Seconds, disguised as hours. Unable to sit, I walk around the waiting area hoping I’m doing the right thing, reminding myself I have no choice, the killer’s fingerprints are on the cell phone. They have to be. There’s no other reasonable explanation for an untraceable phone to be hidden in Nancy Wall’s room. I wonder, did they text Katie from Mom’s bedside? Did Nancy say something to Dad or Danny, providing the catalyst for them to make contact with her? They may have gone to put Katie off the scent, tell her I left town months ago, or that I was dead, hoping she’d go away and leave their perfect lie intact.

Turner eventually arrives with that goddamn look of superiority on her face. My confidence instantly ducks into my boots, but this time I stand straight and pull it back out.

‘Maybe Danny’s fingerprints aren’t on it,’ I say, handing her the plastic bag containing the cell phone.

Turner pauses, inspecting the parcel in her hand.

‘Why do you say that? Did you find the note?’

‘No. Just a hunch.’

‘A hunch.’

Turner’s smirk is irritating. She looks from the cell phone to me. Her fringe is longer now, too long for her eyes to pierce, so she has it pushed to the side.

‘Becca, we don’t run investigations on a hunch. We collect facts,’ she says, the condescending tone in her voice making me want to slap her.

‘Well, you didn’t collect that fact,’ I say, nodding at the cell in her hand.

She smiles a little, shaking her head. ‘And thank you for bringing it in,’ she says, walking away, leaving me here none the wiser.