I ignored her, glancing at my watch. Five minutes, give or take.

Her frowned deepened. “What, I’m boring you already?”

“Tell me about Donnie.”

Her expression blanked. Just like that. Went perfectly smooth. She thinned her lips, said nothing.

“Was he one of your fuck buddies, too?”

She arched a brow at my language. “Barely knew the kid.” A grudging admission, but an admission nonetheless.

“He was the messenger. Charlie Sgarzi used him to set up time and location to meet.”

She turned away.

“Is that why you never answered Charlie’s letters? Because he’s more than a reporter, right? He’s more like a former flame.”

She still didn’t say anything.

“You slept with him,” I continued briskly. “Samuel Hayes as well.”

No answer.

“I met with your former foster mother, Mrs. Davies. You ruined her life, you know. She and her husband took equal blame in the eyes of the neighbors for Donnie’s death. She was a good foster mother, Shana. Until you came along.”

Finally a response. An obstinate look I knew too well.

“And Trevor’s life as well,” I said quietly.

She jerked back slightly, the name seeming to catch her off guard.

“Five-year-old boy,” I continued, my voice merciless, for that matched my mood. “Lucky enough to get it right the first time and land in a good home. You remember him, right? You spent time with him, read him stories, painted pictures. He liked you. He was the only person in that house who had any faith in you.”

Shana’s jaw, setting.

“And the state yanked him. Overnight, Mr. and Mrs. Davies went from two of their best foster parents, to people non grata in the system. Trevor was bounced, probably to one of those homes where he was beat up every night, or worse.”

It wasn’t my imagination; her face had paled.

“You remember Trevor, don’t you, Shana? He became the object of your internal projection. The child you felt compelled to try and save as a proxy for saving yourself. Like the inmate Christi, and once upon a time, me.”

“Adeline.” Her voice was slightly pleading. “Let it go.”

“But you can’t remember Donnie, can you? That night. What happened with Donnie Johnson. You can’t remember any of it.”

“Go away.” She straightened abruptly, pushing back her chair. When in doubt, lead with rage. “I don’t know why you even came here. Aren’t we over with, all done? You don’t love me and I’m not capable of feeling love. Run along, Adeline. Run away from me.”

“You are a fucking idiot.”

Her own words, thrown back at her, drew her up short.

“What the hell—”

“Sit. There’s not much time left. I have one last question: Do you know who the Rose Killer is?”

My sister stared at me. Something about my intensity had finally gotten through. Slowly, she shook her head.