D.D. noticed Adeline kept her MedicAlert bracelet on. Another concession to her condition, D.D. figured. In case of emergency, any first responder would need to know that the patient couldn’t feel pain and thus was in no position to judge her own condition. Plus that whole risk-of-overheating thing. On a hot summer’s day, if Adeline collapsed in public . . .

D.D. wondered how many times a day Adeline was asked about that bracelet and what it signified. And she wondered how willingly and truthfully Adeline answered such questions.

By the time they’d divulged all personal possessions, a stunning black woman with gorgeous cheekbones had arrived. Adeline introduced her as Superintendent Kim McKinnon. She proceeded to lead them through security, down a narrow hall to where she said Shana was already ensconced in the interview room, waiting for them.

“She’s still recovering from yesterday’s incident,” McKinnon informed them briskly, striding rapidly down the long, grungy white corridor. “She lost a lot of blood, so she tires easily. I’d suggest you get straight to the point while she can still answer your questions.”

“She cut herself?” D.D. asked.

The superintendent nodded.

“Serious suicide attempt?”

“Serious enough she probably would’ve died in another few minutes.”

“Has she done that before?”

“Shana suffers from severe depression, in addition to antisocial personality disorder. Think of it this way: She doesn’t just hate your guts; she hates her own guts as well.”

“Lovely,” D.D. murmured. “And how long have you known Shana?”

“Since I first assumed the position of superintendent ten years ago.”

“You think you can handle her?” D.D. asked curiously.

The superintendent arched an elegantly shaped brow. “Anyone who thinks she can handle Shana Day is a fool. The woman is too smart for her own good. And too bored for anyone else’s health.”

“You sound like you have a certain measure of respect for her.”

The superintendent seemed to consider the matter. “Shana was incarcerated at the age of fourteen,” the superintendent answered at last. “Only the first third of her life was lived outside these walls. Let’s just say, I may run the MCI, but Shana is the expert here. I don’t put anything past her, and in return, no officers have died on my watch.”

The superintendent stated the last sentence matter-of-factly, a not-so-subtle reminder of Shana’s full capabilities. Walking on the other side of the superintendent, Phil twitched again.

They arrived at their destination, a glass window overlooking a darkened room.

All of them halted, Phil nervously picking at a hangnail on his left thumb, while Adeline stared straight ahead, expression neutral. Her game face, D.D. figured. Whatever thoughts, feeling, emotions, the doc had about questioning her own sister regarding the two recent murders, she was carefully boxing up and putting away.