“Yes, she’s the detective,” Miss Ella said loudly. “She’s the lady that’s taking our money and not finding Lamont for us. So maybe if she tells you why she can’t find him, you’ll let go of this idea.”

I took Claudia’s left hand and held it lightly between my own two. As slowly and clearly as I could, I explained who I’d talked to and what I’d learned, or hadn’t learned, about her nephew. She seemed to be following me, at least following some of it, interjecting a syllable here and there that sounded like the names I was reciting.

“I’ve been looking for Steve Sawyer,” I said. “He was Lamont’s friend. They were together the night Lamont left your home.”

Miss Claudia frowned. “Not ’Teve.”

“You don’t want a detective? You’d like me to stop looking?”

She shook her head. “No, no! You look, find ’Mont. Talk bad. ’Teve … S-s-s-t-uh-eve … not name.”

Miss Ella smiled grimly at my confusion. “She thinks his name isn’t Steve. But of course it is.”

“What is it?” I asked Miss Claudia.

“No ’member. Not ’Teve.”

The aide brought over a glass of apple juice, and I held it for Miss Claudia to drink. “Will Rose know his name?”

Miss Claudia smiled gratefully on the left side of her face. “As’ ’Ose. Love ’Mont.”

Yes, Rose Hebert had loved Lamont. “Do you know any of Lamont’s other friends?”

Claudia slowly shook her head.

I let her rest for a minute or two, then asked if she remembered Harmony Newsome. Claudia’s good eye brightened, and she struggled to tell me about Harmony and the neighborhood. I couldn’t make out much of her garbled syllables except that Harmony’s father had been a lawyer. I think Miss Claudia was telling me he had money, he could afford to send Harmony to college, but I wasn’t sure.

When I got to Harmony’s death and reminded Miss Claudia that Steve Sawyer had been convicted of her murder, I brought up what George Dornick had said. “Do you think Lamont told the police that Steve Sawyer killed Harmony Newsome?”

“Not ’Mont, no. ’Teve friend, baby, school, friend. ’Mont good boy. Not hell, good boy.” Tears leaked from her good eye again.

“See what you’ve done?” Miss Ella said with a kind of grim satisfaction. “My sister can’t help you. You need to leave, Miss Detective, and stop bothering us.”

Before I could voice my anger—she hired me, it wasn’t my idea to ride out to Stateville or get insulted by Curtis Rivers in the last few weeks—Miss Claudia said, “No, Ella. Find ’Mont, you.” She tapped my hand with her own good one. “’Mont ’Conda not. Friend Johnny, yes, ’Conda not. Leave, give—” She stumbled over the word and finally picked up the Bible and showed it to me. The markers fell out again.