What to wear for this latest battle of wits? I went with the fuchsia cardigan. It seemed the obvious choice. It felt that for years my sister and I had been engaged in a dance. One step forward, one step back, swaying side to side. The music was changing now. Speeding up, moving toward a pounding crescendo, where, at the end, only one of us would be left standing.

I contemplated checking in with D.D. or Detective Phil as I drove south to the MCI. But I didn’t. I already knew what I would say to Shana, what I had to do. And when it came to my sister, I was the expert. It was only appropriate that I should be the one calling the shots.

I entered the sterile, gray shaded lobby. Showed proper ID, then checked my purse into an available locker. I went through the tasks on autopilot, a ritual I’d performed too often lately. If my sister was the one who had committed the crime, then why did I feel like the one who was spending all of her time in prison?

Superintendent McKinnon was already waiting for me. She escorted me through security, down a back hall, her low-slung black heels clicking briskly.

“No BPD?” she asked.

“The day is young. How is Shana?”

“Same old, same old. That reporter, Charlie Sgarzi . . . Paper says his mother was murdered last night. Latest victim of the Rose Killer.”

“So I’m told.”

“You think Shana’s involved, don’t you?” The superintendent stopped walking, turning abruptly, arms crossed over her chest. Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, hair pulled tight, high, sculpted cheekbones pronounced, her intimidating look worked well for her. “I called an emergency meeting of my COs yesterday. Demanded to know if any of them had caught so much as a whiff of Shana communicating with anyone inside or outside of the prison. According to them, there’s no way, no how. Least they haven’t suspected a thing.”

I kept my voice neutral. “Not the kind of thing the guilty party would admit to, though. As you mentioned yesterday, if a corrections officer is the one serving as the messenger, it would be for a price.”

“Except no price is high enough to help your sister. She’s killed two of our own. Behind these walls, that kind of thing is taken personally.”

“Are you sure? Those killings happened a long time ago, before many of your current COs started working here. For that matter, before you came here.”

McKinnon stared at me, gaze hard. “What are you getting at, Adeline?”

“Shana hasn’t had any new visitors. And according to you, she definitely hasn’t been engaging in any outside communication. Which makes me wonder if that simply means she doesn’t have to: Her new friend isn’t from outside these walls. Her new friend is already on the inside. Inmate. Corrections officer. Staff.”