She means Natalie’s files, but I’m not here for hers. “What about older records?” I ask instead. “Like, really old.”

Amber narrows her eyes. “Jesus, Cecelia, what are you into now?”

“The Caroline Quinn murder,” I mumble. “I’d like to look at the original files, especially interview notes for…select people.” I don’t want to mention Grace, or Maura. Tip my hand. Amber and I share a nosy trait, but I know this thread of inquiry is a reach: that a sixtysomething woman is murdering people, or attempting to, in an act of decades-old revenge.

But since Grace was more candid about her feelings with my mother twenty-three years ago for her paper, what might she have said to the cops in 1970? If she was interviewed at all. I need to know what other suspects they had. If they even investigated beyond Joe. That may determine whether the sheriff would be in Grace’s sights—and, by extension, Ben. The pattern is the grandchildren of the people who put Joe away. If it’s actually a pattern.

“Please, Amber.” I’m practically begging now. “If I don’t figure this out, more people might be hurt.”

Amber’s shoulders sag. “This is the last time. Follow me.”

We slip down a dank hallway off the lobby, past a warren of scuffed doors, a graveyard of pre-open-plan efficiency, until we reach one marked RECORDS. Amber unlocks the door, and I’m hit in the face with so much must and mold it wrenches a cough from my throat.

“Yeah, no one comes in here much, and none of the really old shit is digitized. Be careful, and don’t let anyone see you. My dad’s in an interview, but he’ll be done soon.”

The door clunks behind me, and I must be imagining the way the air seems thicker, the room smaller, now that I’m shut in. Despite the claustrophobia, I lock the door, just in case. I shake off my trepidation and make my way over to the nearest filing cabinet: tall, ancient and creaking. The label slipped into the front placard is yellowing and cracked, ink smudged and faded, but I can make out the year span: 1938–43. Wow, deep cut. The second cabinet goes into the sixties, so I move on to the third.