The knitting came out automatically, with the big colorful wooden needles she always used, and I saw a thermos and a USA Today in the bag too. The way she settled right in made me remember she’d been through this before, with my uncle, then with her younger sister, Anna. My aunt was almost a professional at caring for the very sick and dying.

“I was going to bring you some of that David Whyte you like,” Tia said. At first I thought she was talking to me. “But then I thought no, let’s keep you riled up, so I brought the newspaper instead. You know they’re outsourcing the statue for Dr. King’s memorial to China? China? Do you believe that, Regina?”

Tia’s not a sentimental woman, but in her own way, she’s a saint. I also knew there was no chance she’d let Nana catch her crying, coma or no coma. I leaned down and kissed the top of Tia’s head. Then I kissed Nana too.

“Bye, Tia, Nana. I’ll see you both later.”

My aunt kept right on chattering, but I heard Nana answer me. Another echo or memory or whatever these were.

Be good, she told me. And Alex, be careful.

Actually, I wouldn’t be in any physical danger right away. Technically, I was on administrative leave after the previous day’s shooting. Superintendent Davies kept it down to two days, which I appreciated, but even that was time I couldn’t afford. I needed to talk with Tony Nicholson and Mara Kelly. Now. So I asked Sampson to set up some interviews under his name. Then I would just go along for the ride, be another set of ears and eyes.

Chapter 63

THE DETENTION CENTER down in Alexandria is a big old redbrick building at the dead end of Mill Road.

It was where they held Zacarias Moussaoui until he was sentenced to the supermax facility in Florence, Colorado—which, by coincidence, was the last known residence of Kyle Craig, a serial killer and major piece of unfinished business for me to get to one of these days. It’s amazing how small and incestuous the world of major crime can start to feel once you’ve spent enough time immersed in it, as I had. Just thinking about Kyle Craig got me riled up inside.

Nicholson and Ms. Kelly were being held on the first and second floors, respectively. We had put them in separate interview rooms and then had to shuttle between the two by elevator.

At first, neither of them was willing to say anything except that they’d been the victims of kidnap and assault. I let that go on for a while, several hours, and even subtly let Mara Kelly know that her boyfriend was holding firm. I wanted to build up her trust in Nicholson before I tried to tear it down to nothing.

Next time into the room, I laid a photocopied page on the table in front of her.

“What’s this?” she asked.