He goes to her desk in the mudroom. On the shelf above her computer is a series of notebooks, her lyric books that turned into songs for NSYNC and Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, and once, improbably, for Chris Isaak. She doesn’t write anymore, and when he pulls three of them down, he can see the edge of a dark-blue journal. He pulls it out, glancing up to make sure he’s alone.

He pages through the memories, the drama, of their time in Russia. He hasn’t looked at it in years.

Then he sees it. At the bottom of a page, toward the end. He sees it and he knows what Iris has done.

The doorbell rings. He hopes it’s not the press again.

He closes the journal, steadies his breathing, and replaces it behind the lyric books. He brushes the light layer of dust from his shaking hands. He answers the door as Iris comes downstairs. He can’t look at Iris right now. It’s the Lakehaven detective, Carmen Ames, and the Travis County detective, Jamika Ponder.

“Good morning,” he says.

“May we come inside, sir?” Detective Ponder asks. No “good morning.”

He nods and lets them in.

“Did you get in a fight, Mr. Pollitt?” Ponder gestures toward his face.

“I fell in the greenbelt while running the other day.”

“Yes, sir, when did that happen?”

“Why would that matter?” he asks, and the second he does he knows he’s made a mistake.

“Just curious,” Ames says.

He glances between the two of them. It’s not exactly good cop/bad cop. Ponder is in charge. He saw that on the news and Iris said she ran the meeting.

“Sunday. I went for a run.”

“Right after the body was discovered?”

“Well, yes,” he says awkwardly. “But that’s how I deal with stress.”

“Your friend is found dead by your daughter. Your wife accompanies her to the police station. Your young son is here alone. And you go for a run.”

“Yes,” Kyle says, putting some firmness into his voice. “Is that a problem?” He senses Iris stepping up behind him, listening. He still can’t look at her, not now. He will crack if he looks at her.

From a large backpack Ponder holds up an evidence bag…containing the crushed remains of some electronic device. Black, with a silvery-green edging. “Do you recognize this, sir?”

“It looks like broken electronics.” He keeps his voice amazingly steady. This is worse than the journal.

“Crushed and pummeled,” Ames says. “It’s a phone.”

“Where did you find it?”

“In your trash can late last night, sir.”

“Don’t you need a warrant?” Iris says, but no, they don’t. Not to search his trash.