They asked me a lot of questions in a police car parked back in the weeds and had me repeat over and over what I did and what I saw. I think they could have done that for hours, but Jonny stood up to them and insisted that they take me home. I needed to tell my dad. I needed to stand under the shower and wash away the blood. They took pictures of me first, though, flashbulbs popping in my face out there in the woods. They scraped blood from my skin. I realized that they thought maybe I had done this myself. I had killed her. I didn’t understand how anyone could think that. I told them I was innocent. I’m not sure they believed me.

“I’m so sorry, Dad,” I murmured.

I felt a need to take this on myself, for his sake. I never should have let her go.

Dad didn’t look at me. “God’s punishment is a terrible thing.”

“You know I don’t want to hear that.”

“I told Laura she was sinning,” he said.

I wanted to scream at him, but I didn’t. I bit my tongue. This was how he dealt with grief, how he explained awful, random things. He had become so hard and unbending over the years. As if standing straight made any difference at all when you were in the path of a tornado. As if lightning somehow distinguished between good and evil.

Dad bowed his head and started crying again. I sighed and looked up into Jonny’s dark eyes. He kissed my head. We had both grown older overnight, in a lot of ways.

I heard a knock on the front door. “I’ll get it,” I said.

The man on the doorstep had bushy red hair and a matching mustache. He wore oversized wire-rimmed glasses over pale blue eyes. I figured he was in his midthirties. He was medium height, but heavy and strong, with fingers like thick pork sausages. He wore a plaid sport coat and a white dress shirt that bulged out over his belt. No tie. Open collar and a fuzz of red chest hair. He wore flared denims and muddy dress shoes. I saw splotchy stains on his shoes. I wondered if it was blood.

“I’m Detective Inspector Ray Wallace,” he told me. “Duluth police.”

“Come in,” I said.

Wallace walked with a limp. He followed me into the living room, and I sat down next to Jonny again. Wallace introduced himself to my dad, who didn’t get out of his recliner. Wallace’s eyes shot around the room as he pulled out a dining room chair and sat down. You just know when somebody is smart, and Wallace was smart.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Starr,” Wallace said.

My dad used a handkerchief to blow his nose and then folded it and replaced it in his pocket. He laid his hands on his knees and didn’t say anything.

“I’m trying to find out exactly what happened to her, sir,” Wallace continued.