“Now, Charlie Sgarzi claims he found love letters from Shana to his cousin, but I don’t believe that, either. Shana abhors submissive types. No way she’d be attracted to a smaller, younger, weaker boy.”

“He has letters?”

“Found them after his uncle’s suicide.”

“Think he made them up? Maybe to sell a novel?”

I shrugged. “Or there really are notes, but he misunderstood them. The letters are really a form of coded communication or not intended for Donnie at all. He was the delivery boy, or . . .” I paused thoughtfully. “Donnie was smart, a bookworm, right? Maybe he was helping Shana write them. Shana wasn’t exactly a model student. To this day, her handwriting, spelling . . . Let’s just say, a handwritten note from her doesn’t do her natural intelligence justice.”

D.D. was still frowning.

“You think she planned this?” she spoke up suddenly. “I mean, all of this.” She made a churning motion with her hand. “You heard Christi. Shana’s basically rotting away in the MCI with no hope of ever seeing daylight. She’s clever, she’s bored, she’s got plenty of time on her hands. Why not concoct an elaborate series of murders, then position herself to emerge as the hero. It’s been more than a decade since she got to save the day by stabbing Frankie what’s-his-name a hundred times. Now she can take on the Rose Killer. Like you said, fresh meat.”

I shook my head. “I think you were right this morning: There is a connection between the Rose Killer and my sister. But it’s not Harry Day; it’s Donnie Johnson. It’s what really happened thirty years ago. It’s whatever secret the Rose Killer doesn’t want Charlie Sgarzi to dig up.”

“So we return to Charlie Sgarzi,” D.D. stated, looking at Phil.

“No,” I corrected her, earning a hard glance. “He hasn’t learned the secret yet; that’s the whole point. We need to find the person who has. And I might be able to help with that. Shana’s foster mother from back in the day. They lived by the Johnsons. Chances are, she remembers a thing or two about the kid. And I happen to have her name and phone number.”

• • •

BRENDA DAVIES STILL REMEMBERED ME. We’d met only once, nearly six years ago, when I’d first started taking over my sister’s mental health care and had interviewed Brenda as part of basic fact-finding into my patient’s history. At that time, our conversation had been focused solely on Shana. She didn’t appear surprised by my call, or that I had fresh questions regarding the murder of Donnie Johnson. According to Brenda, her busy social calendar was currently clear if we wanted to come right over.