Thirty years had taken a toll on Rikke. She was heavier, with cellulite dimpling her legs. Her blond hair was short and came out of a bottle. Her face was rounded and jowly. She no longer wore glasses, but her eyes were as fierce as he remembered, like two globes of azure ice. He noticed that one breast sagged like a melting snowman across her chest, and where the other breast should have been, the fabric of her shirt puckered over empty space. A pink ribbon was pinned to the pocket.

“You taught algebra, didn’t you? Or was it geometry?”

“Geometry.”

“But not anymore?”

“Not in a very long time.”

“I have it right, don’t I? Finn lives here with you?”

“Yes, he does.”

“He’s your brother?”

“That’s right.”

“It’s unusual to find a brother and sister who have stayed together so long,” Stride said.

“Finn’s had a hard life,” Rikke replied. “He’s seven years younger than I am, and he’s always needed someone to look after him.”

“Why is that?”

“Why do you care? Do you suspect Finn of having done something wrong?”

“Not at all.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Finn provided some information that’s pertinent to one of our investigations,” Stride told her. “Candidly, I’m trying to assess his credibility as a witness.”

“What investigation?”

Stride didn’t reply.

Irritated, Rikke pushed the cat off her lap and pulled at her shirt. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about his background. You said he had a hard life.”

“Finn and I grew up in North Dakota,” Rikke replied. “Our father was killed in a car accident when Finn was ten. Our mother died five years later. I had just graduated with my teaching license at the time. I took Finn, and we moved here. I got a job. I bought this house with the money we got from selling the farm. I was hoping to give us a fresh start, but for Finn, the wounds went too deep. He spent years on drugs. He’s still drinking himself to death. Sometimes I think I should have kicked him out and let him stand on his own two feet, but I was the only family he had. I wasn’t going to turn my back on him.”

“That can’t have been easy.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Do you remember a girl named Laura Starr?” Stride asked.

The muscles in Rikke’s face tightened. Her cheeks bloomed with pink circles. “Yes, of course.”

“A journalist named Tish Verdure is writing a book about Laura Starr’s murder,” Stride said.

“So I hear. I read the papers.”

“Finn told Tish he was in the park the night Laura was killed.”

Rikke shook her head. “Finn said that? No, that’s not right.”

“You think Finn is lying?”

“He may be making up a story to impress this woman, but more likely, his mind is pulling together bits and pieces of things he’s read about the murder over the years. Finn’s mental state is highly unreliable, Lieutenant. Drugs and drink have fried his brain since he was a boy. He doesn’t have a solid grasp on what’s real and what’s not, certainly not after so much time has passed. I assure you, he wasn’t there.”