“She have reason to think that about you?” Phil asked.

“Hell no! I don’t go around molesting little girls. Mostly . . . it made me feel sad. ’Cause clearly someone had, you know, to make her feel she had to say such a thing.”

“You two were friends.”

Hayes shrugged. “I liked her. She was a good kid. I tried to look out for her. Being a black kid in a white Irish neighborhood of Southie wasn’t easy.”

“Who picked on her?”

“Anyone, everyone. She was a fish out of water, and she knew it. But she kept her head up walking. She didn’t socialize much, though. She came home, went to her room. Probably felt safest there.”

“What did she think of Shana?”

Hayes shook his head. “Never saw them interact.”

“Really? Only two girls in the house . . . ?”

“Shana led a fast life. She didn’t even hang out much. AnaRose . . . She was a good girl. Quiet. Smart. I think she took one look at Shana and saw everything she wasn’t going to do, in order to one day lead a better life.”

“When did you last see her?”

“Ah hell . . . I dunno. Since she moved out thirty years ago.”

“State moved her out,” D.D. prodded. “Sent her back to her addict mom, after Shana cast doubt on Mr. and Mrs. Davies’s ability to control their foster children.”

Hayes squirmed uncomfortably.

“You’ve never talked to AnaRose since?”

“How? I don’t know where she went. Not like foster kids run around with phone numbers attached to their chests or forwarding addresses. We’re all temporary. We know that.”

“Think she could be a killer?” Phil asked.

“What?”

“AnaRose. Had to be a tough life. From her perspective, Shana fucks up and she pays the price. Can’t blame her for hating Shana after that.”

“Hating Shana? Please, get in line.”

“Really?” Phil switched gears. “Tell us about Shana.”

“Come on, man. This was all thirty years ago. I barely even remember those days.”

“You two were an item?”

“Says who?”

“For one, your foster mom.”

Hayes flushed, ducking his head. “Oh yeah, I remember now.”

“Nothing like guilt to make it all come rushing back,” Phil assured him.

“Okay. So. Shana came on to me. Totally initiated things. We had sex a couple of times, say a half dozen. But then Mrs. Davies ordered us to cool it. Shana might not have cared, but I did. Mrs. Davies was—she still is—the closest thing to a mom I’ve ever had. She accused me of disrespecting her and Mr. Davies. And that hurt, you know? So I cooled it. Not like Shana cared. She just wanted sex. If I wasn’t available, then she moved on.”

“And how did that feel?” D.D. asked.