The door creaks open. I find myself looking at a huge round woman with brown eyes and a tangle of black hair that reaches midway down her back. She’s got the kind of face that makes it difficult to guess her age, but I’d put her around forty. It’s obvious we wakened her, but she must have been sleeping on the sofa, because it didn’t take long for her to answer the door, and she doesn’t look like the type to move with any kind of speed.

She’s wearing a flowered muumuu that doesn’t cover as much of her as I’d like. Her calves are the size of hams and bulge with varicose veins. Swollen toes with thick yellow nails stick out of the ends of pink slippers.

She takes in the sight of us with a mix of hostility and amusement. “Sheriff.” Her voice is deep and slow, with a hint of the Kentucky hills. “I heard you died.”

“Well, no one’s told me about it yet.” Goddard shows her his identification. “Hope that’s not too much of a disappointment.”

“Things would get pretty boring round here without you cops fuckin’ with us all the damn time.”

“Is Justin here?”

Her gaze slides from the sheriff to me and Tomasetti and then back to the sheriff. I see a cunning in its depths that reminds me of big lumbering bear that can transform to a predator capable of tearing a man to shreds with no provocation or warning. She’s got cold, empty eyes and an “I don’t give a shit” air, both of which tell me she has no respect for anything or anyone—including herself—and has a particularly high level of loathing for law enforcement.

“Who wants to know?” she asks.

“Me and these state agents.”

“State agents, huh?” She gives me the once-over and makes a sound of disdain. “What’d he do now?”

“We just want to ask him some questions.”

“This about that girl gone missing?”

The collective surge of interest is palpable. The sheriff leans forward. I see Tomasetti, who is beside me, crane his head slightly, looking beyond her. “Trina, we just want to talk to Justin,” Goddard tells her.

She makes no move to open the door. “I know my rights, Bud. I’m the parent and I want to know why you want to talk to my son.”

Tomasetti shoves his identification at her. “Because we asked nicely, and if we have to come back with a warrant, we won’t be so nice.”

She’s not impressed and doesn’t even glance at his credentials. “Who the fuck ’re you?”

“I’m the guy who’s going to fuck you over if you don’t open the goddamn door.”