“Mind if we have a little look around?” Cruz said, like it was an afterthought.

Barrett would have allowed it, but before he could speak, Gutman shot to his feet, suddenly ferocious in billowing silk turquoise. “Yes, I damn well do mind. My children are asleep. They’ve lost their mother. Show some goddamn respect.”

The detectives murmured their apologies and Barrett showed them to the door. But Gutman wasn’t done with them yet. He called after them, “You’re holding her, right? The woman who did this? You won’t let her get away!”

They didn’t answer him, just murmured their good nights and left.

Barrett closed the door after them and turned back to Gutman with a nod of approval. “You’re a good dad, Elliott,” he said.

Chapter 5

They put me in a room marked Interview A, which I suppose was fitting for a girl who spent her whole life striving for A’s—the perfect report card, GPA, SAT and LSAT scores, bar exam results, all the way through employee evaluations. Because where did all those A’s lead me to but here, this narrow windowless room where I would soon be interrogated as if I were a murderer.

I sat on a cold stainless-steel bench anchored to a cold stainless-steel table. Facing me was a six-foot expanse of mirror that I knew was a mirror on this side only. A video camera was mounted above it and aimed straight at me. I couldn’t tell whether the camera was recording, and I couldn’t guess whether anyone was watching on the other side of the mirror, but I assumed both were true. Always conduct yourself as if people are watching you, Mrs. Casco used to say, and this time it might literally be true. She’d been my guidance counselor, and she’d guided me from seventh grade all the way into law school, so I was inclined to follow her advice.

When I was first ushered into this little room, I asked for and received a cup of black coffee. I drank it straight down, laid my head on the table, and took a caffeine nap. I woke fifteen minutes later, exactly on schedule. But I felt only marginally refreshed. The technique used to work like a charm when I was at the Jackson Rieders firm. I worked a lot of late nights in those days—overnights, too—often enough that I learned to always keep a complete change of clothes in the office. But that was five years ago. My old trick wasn’t working now.

On the end wall of Interview A was a large video screen. Above it was a digital clock. Two hours had passed, according to the glowing green digits. It was tomorrow.

On the other end wall of Interview A was the door into the corridor that led to the CID bullpen. I didn’t know whether the door was locked, and I was afraid to try the knob. If anyone were watching from behind the magic mirror, they’d take it as a sign that I was being uncooperative.