Hazard waved a hand. “I want you in there with me. Today. That’s where we get started.”

Thompson nodded. She moved around the house for a while longer, and then, pocketing the phone, she came back to Hazard. “If you know where he is, I don’t want you to tell me. My advice to you is to tell the truth, but of course, I’ll also advise you not to answer questions that might be prejudicial to you.”

“I understand.”

“You are not in custody, so you do not have to talk to them, and you do not have to answer any questions if you don’t want to.”

“I want to get whatever information I can out of them,” Hazard said.

“It might not work like that.”

“I want to try.”

Thompson nodded once. “I’ll drive.”

“No, I—”

“Mr. Hazard, I’m going to drive us over there. We’re a team. Until you decide to fire me, I suppose.”

After a moment, Hazard motioned for her to go ahead of him. As he followed her to the door, he muttered, “I do not like teams.”

“Too bad,” Thompson said crisply.

When they got to the station, most of the day shift officers had already headed out on patrol. George Orear sat at the front desk, his hair heavy and shiny with pomade, and he mumbled and shuffled papers and tried to pretend like he had no idea who they were until Thompson snapped something too low for Hazard to hear. Then Orear shot out of his seat and scurried down the hall.

Thompson noticed Hazard looking at her and raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“You’re already worth every penny.”

“The show just gets better,” Thompson said.

Orear was coming back down the hall, followed by Moraes. The detective looked exhausted—eyes bloodshot, clothes rumpled—and Hazard could spare fuck-all sympathy.

“Thanks for coming in today, Emery,” Moraes said. “I know we all want to clear this up as quickly as possible. How are you feeling today? Can I get you some coffee?”

“We’re not here for small talk, Detective,” Thompson said. “Let’s move this along, please.”

“Look, Emery, I know this is an awkward situation, but I really don’t think you need a lawyer—”

“Detective,” Thompson said. “Right now, please.”

Hazard met Moraes’s look and kept his face expressionless.

With a sigh, Moraes led them to interview room one. When Thompson and Hazard were settled at the table, Moraes excused himself. Hazard had been in this interview room a lot of times. He’d even been on this side of the table before, and he remembered it being a horrible, disorienting experience. That had been a while ago, though, when he’d still been trying to find his footing after leaving the force. This time was going to be different, especially because this time, Somers was the one in danger.

The door opened again, but instead of Moraes and Carmichael, Chief Riggle stepped into the room. The first time Hazard had seen him, Riggle had looked thin and hard, wearing a cop’s authority like he’d had it since birth. Today, he looked too thin, his coloring gray from exhaustion, and his eyes were a little too wide. Punch drunk, Hazard thought. Riggle was followed a moment later by Special Agent Park, and Hazard’s first impression of her was slightly more favorable: the dark hair heavy with gray, the simple, well-tailored suit, the composure. They both sat at the table. Park had her hands in her lap, and she was watching Hazard. Riggle leaned forward, drilling a finger into the tabletop.