When the handwriting expert came to town, the people who worked at the courthouse all scribbled anonymously and then listened to the man explain what he saw there. When he said things like “honest” and “dependable,” people jumped to claim that it was them, and so Shelley pretended one of the good ones was hers, even though hers really showed signs of someone who is “not always telling the whole truth,” someone “secretive,” so she worked hard to change those letters and not add those extra little loops that lock everything down, only to later hear that expert say they can really tell when someone is working to correct what is so obvious. The expert said it’s a liar who stabs those o’s, and Shelley is pretty sure that she has never stabbed an o, perhaps punctured one a little bit from time to time, but never stabbed, and she certainly doesn’t do the “felon’s claw,” that sharp, aggressive hook, thank God.

What she really wants to know is, What did those women see in that awful man in the first place? How did he trick them so badly? This balding narcissist with a prescription pad and a scalpel, and a head shaped like a football like in that cartoon Jason used to watch all the time? And Shelley knows she shouldn’t talk about people’s appearances that way; in fact, she has even wondered if Harvey’s little lip was punishment for all those times she thought things like: Good Lord, fix your hair, or Get some bigger pants that fit, why don’t you, or Clean those toenails. Floss your teeth. Still, it seems that a horrible murderer should be fair game for what anybody wants to say, and Shelley has enjoyed picking apart all those things that money couldn’t help him fix—like a football head and thin lips, and eyes that are set back deep in the sockets—but women have always been more forgiving of the physical appearance, it seems, if there are the capabilities of providing what they want, or think they want, in a home. Would Shelley have fallen for him?

The woman who broke the case is a hospice volunteer who refused to let the case go cold and is raising the victim’s child, the man’s son, orphaned by it all. The doctor stares at that witness like he could kill her, so she rarely looks at him but instead keeps her eye on that group of elderly people who sit as if in the theater. Every day, they arrive in vans, from retirement facilities as far as two counties over; Shelley was told this is their show of support for the young woman who had spent her time washing and grooming their hair and feet. One woman sits and takes notes the whole time in a way Shelley finds impressive, especially given her age.