The detectives fell quiet. My lawyer had relaxed beside me. I think he liked the tears, and probably the mention of possible steroid abuse, as well. That was a good angle.

“Where’s Sophie?” D.D. asked, less hostile now, more intent.

“Don’t know.” Another honest answer.

“Her boots are gone. Coat, too. Like someone bundled her up, took her away.”

“Mrs. Ennis?” I spoke up hopefully. “She’s Sophie’s caretaker—”

“We know who she is,” D.D. interjected. “She doesn’t have your child.”

“Oh.”

“Does Brian have a second home? Old ski lodge, fishing shack, anything like that?” Bobby this time.

I shook my head. I was getting tired, feeling my fatigue in spite of myself. I needed to get my endurance up. Build up my strength for the days and nights to come.

“Who else might know Sophie, remove her from your home?” D.D. insistent, not letting it go.

“I don’t know—”

“Brian’s family?” she persisted.

“He has a mother, four sisters. The sisters are scattered, his mother lives in New Hampshire. You’d have to ask, but we never saw them that much. His schedule, mine.”

“Your family?”

“I don’t have a family,” I said automatically.

“That’s not what the police file said.”

“What?”

“What?” my lawyer echoed.

Neither detective looked at him. “Ten years ago. When you were questioned by the police for the death of nineteen-year-old Thomas Howe. According to the paperwork, it was your own father who supplied the gun.”

I stared at D. D. Warren. Just stared and stared and stared.

“Those records are sealed,” I said softly.

“Tessa …” my lawyer began again, not sounding happy.

“But I told Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton about the incident when I first started on the force,” I stated levelly. “I didn’t want there to be any misunderstandings.”

“You mean, like one of your fellow officers discovering you’d shot and killed a kid?”

“Shot and killed a kid?” I mimicked. “I was sixteen. I was the kid! Why the hell do you think they sealed the records? Anyway, the DA never brought charges, ruling it justifiable homicide. Thomas assaulted me. I was just trying to get away.”

“Shot him with a twenty-two,” Detective Warren continued as if I’d never spoken. “Which you just so happened to have on you. Also, no signs of physical assault—”

“You have been speaking to my father,” I said bitterly. I couldn’t help myself.

D.D. tilted her head, eyeing me coolly. “He never believed you.”

I didn’t say anything. Which was answer enough.

“What happened that night, Tessa? Help us understand, because this really doesn’t look good for you.”

I clutched the button tighter. Ten years was a long time. And yet, not long enough.