“How do you know Sophia thought that?” he asks.

“Bowman told me. Yesterday.”

“Why?” Zachary cocks his head, curious now. Listening. “Why is Bowman stirring up the pot again? Did something happen?”

“That night I came in, the way I heard and saw your fight . . . I was walking by with my dog. I always walked by here. I used to see the two of you together.” It seems foolish to try to explain to this guy why I noticed them. I sense he’s not feeling very patient and won’t want to hear a litany of my downward emotional spiral. “It was a misunderstanding. I wasn’t a creeper. I wasn’t anything but . . . curious.”

Zachary sounds disbelieving. “And the cops want to arrest you for being curious? Is that what you’re saying? Just over two years later you’re going to get arrested for curiosity. You’re not making any sense to me. And I’m out of patience for things that don’t make sense when it comes to Sophia’s murder—”

“You never told the police about the fight you had with Sophia,” I say. “The one I interrupted. They have no record of it, no witnesses but me. And they’re not exactly fans of mine right now. They think I made it all up to cast blame on you and away from me.”

Zach takes a couple of steps away and plops into a wooden chair. His body is slack and loose, like he’s ready to collapse. He shakes his head and looks a lot older than he really is. He looks broken.

“I don’t think you know what this has been like. My wife was murdered. Do you understand that? Murdered?”

“I’m sorry. I am.”

“And then for weeks and months after I buried my wife, the cops were asking me questions. Checking my financial records, talking to all of our friends. Calling my mom at work. They asked the most personal questions. Am I a cheater? Am I abusive? Did I owe somebody money for a gambling debt? Or was I being blackmailed by an unhappy lover?” He shakes his head again, his eyes blinking rapidly. “And you want me to rip that scab off? Everybody in town, everybody I work with, they all look at me like I’m guilty. That’s why I switched to working at home. That’s why I can’t see most of our old friends.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Zach,” I say.

“I don’t even know who you are.”

“Okay, maybe this was a mistake. My coming by. I was just . . . I’m trying to figure out what’s going on too.”