She was surprised to see they’d arrived at the house. O’Hara stopped the car and pulled up the hand brake. The windshield wipers clunked, the engine trembled, the snow kept coming down, the moments ticked past. O’Hara was waiting for an answer.

“I’ll think about it. I mean it, I will. Just give me some time.”

“That’s better than nothing,” O’Hara said. “Just don’t take too long. We don’t want another murder.”

Rose sat in the warmth of the car a moment longer. “When did you … do you know when Carla was killed?”

O’Hara cocked her a look. “Probably some time last night. I haven’t seen the medical examiner’s report yet.”

“I think Nancy can only tell me after they’re dead, you know,” she said again, as much to reiterate it to herself as to Detective O’Hara. Because if that were true, it would mean Carla was dead before Rose went to sleep, before Jerram left the house. She didn’t want to think about Carla being found this morning and Jerram sneaking home. Jerram talking about research on serial killers. Jerram with his Swiss Army knife and his Totally Intact State. Jerram who never let anyone look into his knapsack. Who kept a lock on his closet door.

“You all right, Rose?”

“Yes, yes.” She opened the door quickly, afraid O’Hara might read her thoughts. She got out, then leaned over into the open door. “There’s something … I think I should tell you. But please, if it turns out to be wrong, don’t let anyone know about it coming from me.”

The man in the blue car was a better possibility now. She liked the idea of the man in the blue car. It was easier than thinking about Jerram. She told O’Hara.

She looked perplexed at first, but by the time Rose finished, her face was grim.

“You should have reported this right away,” she said in a cold voice. She was no longer friendly. Good cop had gone. She reached over and slammed the door. The car made a U-turn, viciously throwing up snow in Rose’s face. Rose watched the car speed down the hill, not skidding once.

“Sorry,” Rose said, but she didn’t know if she was apologizing to O’Hara or Jerram or the man in the blue car.

Twenty-one

Rose sat on her bed all afternoon, concentrating on Nancy. She tried everything she could think of: clearing her mind, repeating a mantra, breathing control. Nancy didn’t come.