My intention was to honor my bargain with Richards. I’d made the promise with honor in my heart. I wanted to give him his twenty-four hours, but when he left my apartment, that restless energy that always buzzed in my system tilted to a new level when Paul texted again, still looking for that drink. I deleted the message, but suddenly computer work would not satisfy me, cleaning the place felt like a waste of time, and the apartment walls shrank closer together as the seconds ticked.

I heard Alan’s door across the hallway open and close. He’d said to come over anytime. And now, at least he’d keep me from rushing down to David’s. I grabbed my keys, locked my door behind me, and crossed to his door. I knocked.

Determined footsteps moved to the door before it opened to Alan. He was wearing his dark suit pants, jacket, and tie. “Marisa.”

“You said to stop by.”

He regarded me with unveiled curiosity.

I shifted. “You been to church?”

“Deposed a cop. How did your visit with Richards go?”

“He told me you two know each other.”

“We crossed paths in a case a few years ago. For the record, I was representing the man he was trying to put away.”

“You going to invite me in and tell me about the case?”

“I was representing a rapist and murderer.”

Best policy or not, honesty wasn’t easy. “You’ll have to tell me more than that to chase me away.”

He stepped aside, but his frown suggested he expected I might not stick around too long. He closed the door but remained near it as he faced me. “Do you remember the Lee case?”

“Vaguely.” A woman had been raped and beaten to death, I thought. I didn’t remember the details. Stood to reason barely anyone remembered Clare.

“My client was high on meth when he arrived home, found his girlfriend asleep on the couch, and after he raped her, he beat her to death. My client’s father had money, he hired my firm, and I was assigned the case. I got his sentence reduced to five years.”

“So he’s back to his old life now.” I couldn’t hide the bitterness.

“He still has one year, sixty-five days to serve.”

“Why’d you represent him?”

“Everyone deserves a defense in this country.”

“And you made a few dollars.”

“Yes.”

“Why’d you join the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s Office?”

“Maybe righting some karma.”

“Richards investigated my sister’s death. She was strangled to death thirteen years ago.” I was amazed how I recited the facts as if they didn’t belong to me.

He drew in a breath, but to his credit he didn’t say he was sorry. Maybe he’d figured out that the families of victims hated that word. “Clare Stockton.”

That was a surprise. “You know the case?”