I stared at him.

“You heard me. You’re a sister as well as a psychiatrist. Stop dicking around and manipulate Shana into doing what you want.”

“You mean, as you attempted to do with your relentless letter-writing campaign. And how did that work for you again?”

“Hey, I need this. My mother deserves this. Now, are you gonna make this happen or not?”

“Mr. Sgarzi—”

“Ask her about the Rose Killer.”

My breath froze for the second time in a single day. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. This new string of murders, some psycho running around harvesting strips of human flesh. You can’t tell me that doesn’t sound just like dear old Dad.”

I remained silent, no longer trusting myself to speak.

“How does the killer do it, I wonder?” Sgarzi mused, tone mocking. “Know how to best slice down the length of the woman’s torso, excising each precious strip. Then how to preserve them so the memories last forever. Why, it’s almost as if he has inside information. . . .”

“You think my sister, who’s been locked up for nearly three decades, has something to do with these killings?” I asked sharply.

“I think your sister has been dancing rings around you for years. All those hour-long visits, yet you’ve never asked the right questions. You wait and you wait for your sister to magically come to you. What are you afraid of, Adeline? You can’t even feel pain. What do you have to fear?”

“I don’t know what you—”

His voice dropped. “Take the kid gloves off. Tell Shana point-blank it’s time to start cooperating. She knows more than you think.”

“And you know this how?”

“Because I didn’t just write letters to Shana. I wrote to several of her fellow inmates, including two that are no longer behind bars. And the stories they have to tell, about Shana, about the things she knows that she shouldn’t possibly be able to know. The girl’s connected, has a partner, a friend, I haven’t quite figured out what. But she’s not just moldering away in a cell like you seem to think. All these years later, she’s still tending to business.”

“Prove it.”

“You want proof? Ask what she did to those two corrections officers. Exactly what she did, exactly how she did it. You think you can’t feel pain, Adeline? Well, I think your sister is about to prove you wrong.”

Charlie Sgarzi stormed off down the hall, heading straight for the elevators.

I remained rooted in place, watching as the downward arrow finally dinged to life, the car doors opening, swallowing the reporter, then carrying him away.

My hands were still shaking as I slowly slid my purse down my arm, then rooted around for the key.

Just a reporter, I assured myself. A man who would say anything to write an article, let alone profit from his family’s tragedy.