“I called earlier just to ask you about Selma; see how she’s doing. We’re really not that close, you know, even though I tried to keep her company that night after the meeting. I’m not getting much from her.”

“Nothing’s changed. Nothing that I know of. I was about to call her.”

“Then you don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” Something in Tanisha’s tone gave her pause. “Did something happen?”

“I just saw it on Twitter, from a friend in California. Breaking news.”

“What?” From the tone of Tanisha’s voice, Brianna knew it wasn’t good.

“Donovan Caldwell? The 21 Killer?”

“He’s not the killer,” Brianna said automatically, then caught herself. “What about him?”

“He’s dead, Brianna.”

“He’s what?” she whispered, disbelieving.

“Donovan Caldwell. He’s dead.”

“What? No!” She was shaking her head, as if Tanisha could see her. “But that’s impossible.”

“I’m telling you, it’s true. I double-checked.”

“Oh, dear God,” she whispered, her knees threatening to buckle. “But he’s . . . he’s in prison.” Leaning against the counter for support, she gathered her wits. “Wait a second. He can’t be dead. He’s in his thirties and healthy. I just saw him. There has to be some mistake.” But she was already forcing her legs to move and crossing into the living room, where she’d left her laptop.

“Hey, I’m just letting you know.”

“But how? Why?”

“Don’t know. I don’t think the details are out yet. At least not that I’ve seen online. Just that he was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.”

“It’s just so hard to believe.”

“I know.”

She nearly fell onto the couch and fired up her laptop. Her fingers quivered over the keyboard as denial slithered through her brain. This couldn’t be. There had to be a mistake. Just speculation. A hoax. Donovan Caldwell, the loner cousin she’d barely known, couldn’t be dead.

“I don’t know any details,” Tanisha said again. “I thought you might.”

“No.” Trembling inside, Brianna squeezed her eyes shut. She had failed him. All her promises of justice came to mind, mocking and cold. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. He is . . . was my . . . but . . . I mean, I didn’t know him growing up . . . not really.” Her family and his had been separated by distance and disinterest, busy people, busy lives. But still, she remembered her aunt Cathy, a teacher, and her uncle Greg. They’d divorced after the loss of their daughters and the ensuing media circus, their son being tried and convicted for the crime. In a way they’d lost all three children years before, but now, with Donovan’s death, it was final.

Why the hell was it taking so long for the computer to engage?

Finally, the screen lit and she was able to type in Donovan Caldwell’s name.