I stare agog at Ben, seeking an explanation, but everyone else has moved on: we hand over our IDs, sign in, and pass through a bank of metal detectors, and then a security officer buzzes us through a steel door and takes us to a room with half a dozen tables bolted to the floor. I gulp down sudden apprehension: no glass partitions with clunky old phones for talking. Joe and I are going to get up close and personal.

“There was a questionnaire?” I finally get in my burning question once the guard leaves.

Ben browses a vending machine in the corner before plucking a crisp dollar from his wallet, which he exchanges for a bag of Cheetos.

“The prisoner has to put you on the list, too, so I got Maura to make a call.”

“Maura?”

“She said she could help,” Ben says with a shrug. “Want one?”

I shake my head, too queasy to eat. I pace next to the windows, peer down into a dusty yard with a well-worn basketball court. And right at the point when I’m about to turn to Ben, change my mind, suggest we leave, a door on the far end of the room clicks open and Joe Bedecki shuffles in, in handcuffs and chains. He reminds me of an old stray dog. Lean and wiry, a hard life behind him. But there’s a canny alertness behind his brown eyes.

Those eyes narrow at me now, but Joe allows the guard to escort him over to the table where Ben and I are now sitting.

“They said an Ellis wanted to see me. Didn’t expect you.”

“You know me?”

“You look just like she did at your age.”

Of course he means my grandmother. A shiver runs through me.

“Why would she visit you?”

Bedecki leers, revealing a mouth of yellowing, ill-cared-for teeth. A harsh contrast to the Joe from the newsreel, his handsomeness twisted by older age and decades of hard time.

“Why are you here?” he says. “Not that I don’t appreciate the company. It’s usually just my sister who comes, and she prattles on with stupid, useless Seaview gossip.” He zeroes in on me. “Though perhaps that’s what you bring me, too. The latest from Seaview.”

“A girl was murdered. Just like Caroline,” I confirm.

He’s messing with me. It’s been on the news. He has to know.

“Tragic,” he says, without a hint of sorrow in his voice.

“She was strangled. Like you strangled Caroline.”

Joe rubs at the handcuffs at his wrists. Twists them around. Taps them to the table.

“And who are you? Her boyfriend?” He’s addressing Ben, starving my query of oxygen.

“Yes,” Ben says. “I’m Ben Vann.” He drops his name like a bomb.