When I opened the doors, I found heavy bars on the other side and on the windows. The same key opened the bars and I slid them open. Well, at least there was that.

The building was dark and smelled of dust and floor polish. I made my way down to the county attorney’s offices. Here, it smelled like Gates’s perfume. I checked her office to make sure she wasn’t there, and the framed photos on her desk caught my eye. I sat in her chair. I had been curious to see more of what Gates’s life had been like while I was gone.

The photos were of her parents, several friends, a couple of aunts and uncles . . . and one of two teenagers.

It was me and her at a water park in Salt Lake City that her father had driven us to. A photographer at the park was charging a buck to take photos, and we had one taken, my arm around her. We were fifteen. I thought we had tossed the photo that day because Gates said she didn’t like how her hair looked. I’d thought it looked perfect and still did.

I went to the conference room, where a monitor and DVD player were set up, and took the Winchester file out of the drawer. I popped in the DVD of Anderson’s confession.

“Look, we’re just here to help you,” Detective Howard’s voice said. He sat across from Anderson in a small room, white walls with blue carpet. I’d already watched this video once and hadn’t seen anything particularly unusual about it, but I turned it up and sat down anyway.

“We just want what’s best for you, Anderson. I know your daddy, and I know how heartbroken he’s gonna be with all this.”

I watched Anderson. His eyes would close and shoot open in irregular rhythm: he was clearly high.

“I ain’t done nothin’,” he said.

“Don’t stick to that, man. I’m telling you, don’t stick to it, Anderson. This is going to go bad for you. And I really don’t want it to. Now I know you went home with Patty, I know you had sex with her, but I don’t know if you killed her. Tell us what happened after the sex.”

“I ain’t killed her.”

“Did you have sex with her?”

“I don’t think so.”