“Not about the fire. I thought he would want to know if we’d left the stove on or if we’d seen anyone hanging around the house. But he also seemed suspicious. He told me that a girl like me would…” My voice trails off. I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this word in court. And I don’t really want to say it, either. “He told me that a girl like me would be with Beau Rochester for money.”

“What did he mean, a girl like you?”

“He didn’t explain. I assumed he meant someone poor. And powerless.”

“Objection,” says the defense attorney, briefly rising. “Speculation.”

“Sustained.” The judge.

Lauren nods and moves on to her next question.

She’d already prepared me for this. That she would ask that question, that the defense attorney would object. We rehearsed all the questions that Lauren has. She walks me through the next times I saw Joe Causey, the times that he would badger me, accuse me, and the time I found the rat on the front porch of the inn.

That, at least, he’s already confessed to doing.

All of it establishes a pattern of bad behavior on the part of the former detective.

It’s not always about evidence, Lauren told me during our practice session. Even with that DNA, it isn’t a sure thing. It’s really about how the jurors feel about him. If they feel like he’s a dirty cop, they’ll believe he could murder someone.

Finally, Lauren gives me a smile filled with sympathy. “Thank you, Jane. No further questions.”

I believe she does her work because it’s the right thing to do. But I also believe what Beau said about her. She’s using me. I’m a pawn in her case, but I’m a willing pawn.

The defense attorney stands. He has black hair slicked back. His tie is a shiny purple paisley. His features are handsome in a magazine model kind of way. Everything about him feels slimy to me, but I have the sense that he’s very successful.

That for some reason, only I’m seeing the slime.

“Ms. Mendoza,” he says, a note of condescension in his voice. “The house fire you mentioned. Where were you when the fire started?”

Lauren is on her feet in black leather stilettos before he finishes his sentence. “Objection. How is this relevant?”

The defense attorney gives the judge a smile as if they have an inside joke. “I’m getting there.”

“Quickly, Mr. Campbell.”

“I’ll ask again,” he says, facing me. “Where were you when the fire started?”

“In my room. Sleeping.”

“Alone?”

“Objection,” Lauren says again, louder this time.

“I’ll allow it,” the judge says, but he gives Campbell a warning glance. “For now.”

“No,” I say, my voice breaking. I clear my throat. “I wasn’t alone.”