Rafe almost rolled his eyes, but caught himself in time. “Yes, Mom.”

Irina shot him a glare that said he’d be in deep shit later. “Second, we have two grieving women here who have had enough stress in the past day to last the rest of their—hopefully—very long lives.” She turned her gaze on Erin. “You really should have given Raphael fair warning.”

Erin dropped her eyes. “I know. I’m sorry, Irina.”

“I hope so.” Irina extended her hand to Bunker’s mother. “I am Irina Sokolov. You are Jeff’s mother?”

The woman shook Irina’s hand warily. “Geri Bunker. We didn’t know that any of Miss Romero’s family would be here. We are very sorry to disturb them in their grief. But my son wanted to make things right with Miss Callahan.”

Irina tilted her head toward Bunker. “You are all right, yes?”

Bunker nodded shakily. “Yes. Ma’am,” he added when his mother nudged him.

“Good. I would like to invite you in for tea, but I think we should hear what Mr. Bunker has to say first. Quickly, young man. This détente is fragile.”

Bunker shot her a grateful look. “Okay. I started this article, then found out that Miss Callahan lived in New Orleans. I went there—on my own. My mother had nothing to do with it. I kind of lied about where I’d gone.”

“Because you are only sixteen and she would have said no,” Irina said logically.

“Exactly. Ma’am. I talked to Miss Callahan’s exes, and one of them sold me the video, but I did not put it in the article. My boss did.”

“You gave it to your boss,” Rafe said coldly. “What did you think would happen?”

“I didn’t give it to my boss,” Bunker insisted. “He called the guy who gave it to me and got his own copy. I gave my copy to the FBI. I didn’t use it.”

“Why not?” Rafe asked, still unconvinced. Until Bunker’s eyes filled with tears.

“I couldn’t. I saw how she looked when that killer was dragging her from the hospital in February. How . . . empty her eyes were. I didn’t think the video was consensual, so I didn’t use it. I didn’t know that I didn’t think it was consensual yesterday, but I knew it was wrong.”

Rafe stared at Bunker, trying to parse that last sentence. Bunker stared back, tears now streaking down his face. Rafe sighed. “Okay. Assuming we believe you, why didn’t you turn the video over to the cops right away?”

The kid’s gulp was audible, but he straightened his spine. “I went back to Miss Callahan’s apartment to ask more questions of her neighbor, because she’d said nice things, but the accounts of the others were so contradictory that I needed more information. And I found her dead. Miss Romero, I mean.”

“And didn’t call the NOPD until this morning,” André snapped. “She’d been dead for thirty-six hours.”

“I’m sorry,” Bunker whispered. “I’m so sorry. I was scared and I freaked out and did the wrong thing.”