Something she doesn’t even understand moves Rebecca half a step back toward the apartment building.

It must also show on her face because Hoffman says, “You probably talked to them already, right? As I’m sure you’re aware, Gatewood is something of a backwater, the kind of place great ideas go to die. But it also means it’s a place where everybody knows everybody else. And it’s clear you’re involved in this because you were friends with Madeline and you were at my house that night when a certain unfortunate incident may or may not have taken place. It made me look bad, and it made my friend look bad.”

Hoffman takes a step toward her.

Rebecca tries not to but can’t help moving back again.

When Hoffman shifts forward, his head moves in front of the streetlight behind him, casting his face in shadow.

“What I want you to understand is that things aren’t always what they seem,” he says. “It’s easy to look at a situation and to see only one part of the picture. And when you’re young, like you are, you may not understand all the subtle nuances and complexities inherent in the situation. Are you following what I’m saying?”

“I only told the police what I saw. That’s it.”

“But see, that’s the problem. It’s like when I help a student with a story or a poem. I provide them with a detail or an idea for the plot, and then students think it’s something I’ve really experienced. When what I’m doing is brainstorming. The police get ahold of one sliver of information, and they’re simply not creative enough to understand it or where it came from. They’re not writers like us. From their limited perspective, they can see only trouble. And then they try to destroy someone’s life. A good man. Do you understand?”

“They weren’t interested at all in the underage drinking or the pot smoking, Dr. Hoffman. They didn’t even care.”

Hoffman laughs. But it isn’t a real laugh. It’s a sound that indicates contempt, like Rebecca is so small and insignificant she can’t possibly get anything right. “See, that’s the kind of thing I’m talking about. That narrow focus on the simplest things. I don’t care what the police think of my parties. Let them come and try to do something to me about it.”

Rebecca takes another step back. And then another. “Like I said, I only told them what I saw with Madeline—”

“Madeline was a troubled girl. From a troubled home. Look at the way she behaved. Faking her disappearance, making the police do all that work. Scaring her mother. What kind of person does those things? Someone who isn’t right. Someone with problems.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do. I already talked to the police.”