The four men sat on stools in a room with scratched purple walls and a mirror topped by a track of glowing bulbs. They stared at us, their faces and shirts soaked in sweat. Davi was clearly the youngest, and he wore the most suspicious expression, almost a sneer.

“We’re on break,” he said. “Can’t this wait?”

“I’ve got an early bedtime,” said Ray. Suddenly he looked colder and sterner than usual, more of a prototypical cop. His southern accent was stronger, too. “As I told your colleague here, I’ve been hired by someone who wants to find out the truth of what happened to your sister. I have a few short questions.”

Davi cracked a can of beer and scowled at the foam rising through the hole.

“When did you last see her?” said Ray.

“The week before she died,” Davi said.

“Which day?”

“I don’t know. Saturday. She came to one of my sets.” He pounded half the beer, then tossed it in a nearby trash. “This stuff tastes like dung. We got anything better?”

“Harder,” said his bandmate, pulling out a clear bottle.

I watched Ray witness the exchange. He seemed to be measuring something in Davi, who up close resembled his sister more than he did onstage. They had the same dark brows and slightly short chin. Davi grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the cap, sniffed it, and handed it back. “That crap will ruin my voice,” he said. “Get us something from the bar. Top shelf.”

His bandmate looked peeved by the request, but he stalked from the room.

“Anything else?” Davi said to Ray with exaggerated slowness.

“Did you notice anything different about her the last time you saw her?”

“She seemed . . .” Davi paused. “Restless, I guess. Nervous. She dropped her beer, and my sister was not the clumsy type.”

“Did she ask you about the money you owed her?”

The other two men did not look surprised at this, but I saw something slam behind Davi’s eyes. “What are you saying?”

“You owed her four grand. There’s a bank record of a check that she wrote to you. Just as she was about to lose all her funding at her school.”

Davi blinked. “How do you know I didn’t pay her back in cash?”

Ray just stood there and folded his arms. I didn’t understand his attitude. His posture. I would have thought he’d be polite to Davi, someone who’d lost his sister so violently. I would have thought he’d be thankful for any information he could give. Then I felt naïve for assuming all this.

“Listen,” Davi said, “I never touched a hair on my sister’s head. The cops say she killed herself. You’re meowing up the wrong fucking tree—”

“I agree,” said Ray in the same tough tone. “So what’s the right tree, Davi?”