“This is a serious breach of protocol,” she said. “Calling me up in the middle of the night, drunk. Harassing me. Accusing me of…of I don’t even know what. But something far beyond your jurisdiction, I know that much. So you can be assured I’ll be contacting your department in the morning.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Colin replied. “They’ll be upset. Maybe I’ll get fired. Probably not. I’m on bereavement leave. Probably just get a reprimand.”

“Bereavement leave?”

“Wife and child,” he said, adding, for no reason he could think of, “Unborn child.” The tears didn’t come this time, probably because he’d released so many of them earlier. Between the alcohol and the crying, Colin was dehydrated, his skin scratchy, his eyes full of burn. “Died a few days ago. So we have that in common, Rose. We each lost a spouse.”

“Oh my god. I’m sorry. I…I don’t know what to say. But that’s still no reason to—”

“Turned out I was right,” he interrupted. “A baby girl. Little girl.”

“Detective, that’s terrible. I think maybe you should go to sleep. Please leave me alone, and I won’t report this call.”

“You want to know what I think, Rose? I think you know what happened to Caleb Benner. ’Cause you wrote about it, didn’t you? In your book. Child of the Steps. So I wanna ask you something.” Colin went from sitting to lying on the couch, staring up at nothing. “What happened on those steps? Your dad mentioned to the cop back then he was having some of them refinished.”

Rose said, “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

Every suspect said that at some point. Some sort of denial. The words were meaningless, Colin knew. It was how they were said that mattered. And there, in Rose’s voice, he heard a crack.

“I think you do,” he told her. “I think your family has a big secret. Maybe the biggest secret in all of Bury.”

“Leave me alone. You can’t be doing this.”

“You’re right,” he conceded. “This is a completely inappropriate phone call, and let it be known…” Colin subdued a belch. “Be known I’m acting on my own, not as a member of Milwaukee’s finest.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Rose said. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“One more thing,” Colin said, hoping to keep her attention for one more moment. He nuzzled the phone between his cheek and couch cushion, and it hit him how tired he was. Tired as if he were living a dozen lifetimes simultaneously, all of them hard. “Just know you can talk to me,” he continued. “I understand family bonds. Hell, I’ll even tell you something about me related to your book. My wife? She fell down the stairs, too. Right the fuck down the stairs, just like the character in your book. Corey Brownstein. Same initials as Caleb Benner. How ’bout that?”

“Detective—”

“My mom’s a hoarder. Has shit all over the house. Meg just wanted to help her organize, just a little. Though that’s like throwing a pebble into the Grand Canyon. Is that how the saying goes? But she just wanted to help. And Meg, despite being as pregnant as she was, went over to help. First few minutes she was there, she tripped on a box of Tupperware at the top of the stairs. Fell down the steps. Hardwood. Head over heels. Snapped her neck.” Colin listened and watched himself from a distance. Analytically. This man on the couch in the dark, processing what had happened for the first time. Without judgment. Without emotion. “My mom has dementia, which gets worse starting in the afternoon. Sundowner’s syndrome, or some such. And this was in the evening.