McKinnon didn’t speak right away. When she did, her words were clipped. “You suspect me in that list? I fall under staff? Because to be fair, I have to include you in that list. You’re not a new visitor, and yet you’re here often enough. The kind of regular all of us are so used to seeing, sometimes I bet we don’t even notice you.”

“Why are you letting Shana and me talk?” I asked. “We’re way over our monthly allotment. Yet she made the request and you allowed it.”

The superintendent frowned, appearing troubled again. “I want to know what’s going on,” she said. “Yesterday . . . Shana convinced me. I don’t know how, but in some way, she’s connected to these murders. The question remains: Is Shana some criminal mastermind, ordering murders from the solitude of her cell? Or is she simply laughing at our expense, creating a macabre game where now I suspect you and you suspect me, and the BPD probably suspects both of us. I need to know what’s going on, Adeline. As the superintendent of this prison, hell, as a supposedly intelligent woman who used to sleep at night, I want to know what’s really happening in my facility. Now, I expect the Boston detectives will visit again soon enough to press the matter. But, all suspicions aside, my money’s on you. If anyone gets the truth out of Shana, it’s going to be you.”

We resumed walking, not toward the visiting room Shana and I usually shared, but toward the interview room used last time by the Boston detectives. Apparently, Superintendent McKinnon planned on listening in. All part of her pursuit of truth? Or to make sure Shana didn’t reveal too much?

And me? What did I want, think, feel about all of this?

McKinnon was right. We were all twisted up. Jumping at shadows, suspecting everyone, frightened of everything.

I thought of what Charlie Sgarzi had said just the other day. I couldn’t feel pain, meaning what did I have to fear?

I remembered my disposal project yesterday. The way I had flushed strings of human flesh down a public toilet. The way three had floated back to the top, mocking me.

And I realized, for the first time in my life, I had never been so afraid.

Once again, Shana was already waiting inside the room, shackled hands resting on the edge of the table. She glanced up as I walked in, dark eyes lasering in on my fuchsia top, and I suffered my first moment of uncertainty.

My sister didn’t appear anything like I’d expected.

Her face was gaunt; if anything, even paler than yesterday, with deep bruises under her eyes. As if she had yet to sleep, her shoulders bunched with tension.