Lt. Braga stared at him, assessing his truthfulness, he guessed.

“I’m really sorry,” he said again.

“What are you sorry about?”

“About … misspeaking.”

“Claudia’s family has a lot of questions. And you should think very hard about whether you want to “misspeak” again. You can cooperate; you can tell the truth; or you can end up like your brother.”

“What?” he managed to croak.

“We might be a small town, but we know how to background stalkers.”

“You think I’m a—”

“Let me fill you in what I know. I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with Claudia, but her family hasn’t seen her in weeks. And none of them had ever heard of you before yesterday. I also know you have a juvenile record in Ohio.” She paused to let that sink in, and it did. He should have known nothing is really “sealed” these days. Nothing done can be undone. “Claudia’s family suspects she is in danger. And as you may have gathered when you were trespassing in their home, they are the kind of people whose suspicions get humored. So we have to be on our game here. Leave no stone unturned. Which is why I’m going to ask you again: Where is Claudia?”

“I really don’t know,” he said. “I thought she was going to be here. She told me she was going to be here.”

“Did you hurt her?”

“No!” He said it too loudly. He was scared, but to the cops he probably looked hostile. Possibly dangerous. Mike had done the same thing. His brother’s lawyer said that part of the reason the DA wouldn’t let Mike off without prison time was because he thought his brother had “violent tendencies” after the cops told him Mike had kicked a chair in the interrogation room. A fucking chair. Trevor looked at the table. He put his hands flat in front of him, and took a deep breath.

“No,” he said. “I would never hurt Claudia.”

“Were you in love with her?”

“What? No.” Was that a lie?

“It’s okay if you were. Love’s not a crime.”

Trevor didn’t answer. He thought of that line in Hamilton that Boyd was always singing: Talk less, smile more.

“If something happened, an accident, maybe?” continued Lt. Braga. “It’s in your interest to tell us. Because if we find a body…”

“A body? She’s dead?”

“You tell me.”

“You’re the one talking about bodies. Is there something you’re not telling me?” That was a stupid question. There were probably fifty things they weren’t telling him. It was practically their job not to tell him things. This was a test and he was failing.