“No,” Greg spoke up. “She stays.”

“Then you talk.”

He sighed, seemed to be debating something inside himself. “My parents are dead,” he said abruptly.

“When?”

“Eighteen years ago.”

D.D. did the math in her head. “You’d be, what? Twelve?”

“Fourteen.”

“Okay. Parents die. It’s fourteen-year-old you and your, what … mentally ill older/younger sister?”

“Older. Sixteen.”

“She take care of you?”

“Couldn’t.”

“Because she was mentally ill.”

“No.” He looked up, sighed again, seemed to finally reach some kind of decision. “Because she was under arrest for my parents’ murder. She’d poisoned them. With strychnine.”

“Look, I don’t know all the details,” Greg told them. “I was a kid and my sister … I don’t know. I’ve heard a lot of different stories over the years. At her trial, her attorney argued self-defense. That my father had abused her, and my mother didn’t intervene, so Sally killed them to escape. Then she suffered a breakdown. The experts diagnosed her with severe depression, as well as borderline personality disorder. My sister’s attorney argued the borderline personality was a result of the abuse; it all got very complicated. Eventually, the state agreed to waive the charges as long as my sister was institutionalized. My grandparents were serving as our guardians at the time. They made my sister take the deal and that was that. My sister went bye-bye, and we all pretended it never happened.”

“Where was this?” D.D. asked, making notes.

“Pittsburg.”

“How’d your sister get the strychnine?”

“Don’t know.”

“How’d she administer it?”

“Don’t know. I was at a Boy Scout camping weekend when it all went down.”

D.D. eyed him skeptically. “I want dates, place, and at least two corroborating witnesses.”

Greg rattled off dates, place, and the name of two former Boy Scout leaders. The guy had apparently been asked to supply that information a couple of times before.

“You believe your father was abusing your sister?”

“I never saw any signs of abuse.”

“So maybe your sister simply wanted to off your parents?”

“I never saw any signs of violence.”

“Well, which is it, Greg? A or B? Your whole family history comes down to two choices, an abusive father or a homicidal sister. You can’t tell us you’ve never considered the matter.”

“Consider it all the time,” he said matter-of-factly. “Still don’t have an answer. Welcome to mental illness.”

“But you’re breaking your back—not to mention a few rules—to fund better housing for your sister. That’s gotta mean something.”