I can’t think of a thing to say, so we walk outside, her, six feet high in some crazy platform boots, me, all hunched up in jeans and a white T-shirt. I’ve stopped snapping the rubber band at least. My wrist has gone numb and turned bright red. I look like a suicide victim. It’s something to consider.

She walks around the house, to the back yard. I can see her, intently checking the grounds. Any bloody power tools lying around? Perhaps some fresh-turned earth?

I want to say Fuck you. Of course, I say nothing at all. I keep my head down. I don’t want to look up. I don’t want to give anything away.

Later, she will tell me she’s doing this for my own good. She is looking out for me, trying to protect me. She only wants to help me.

And I can suddenly picture myself, sitting down on my stupid pink floral sofa, writing full force:

Dear Rachel:

I am sorry for what I did. Sorry for all the times I told you I only wanted to talk, when we both knew I just wanted to get you naked. Sorry for all the times I got you in bed, then said I only wanted what was best for you.

I’m sorry I fucked you, then told you it was all your fault. You wanted it. You needed it. I did it for you.

And I’m sorry that I still think about you every single goddamn day. How much I want you. How much I need you. How you did it just for me.

Then, just as I’m really on a roll, writing away in my head, Colleen’s voice suddenly cuts through the gloom.

“Hey, Aidan,” she calls out. “Is that your cat?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

The meeting started at six A.M. sharp. They began with the board. They had Person of Interest A: Mr. Jason Jones, relation—spouse. They had Person of Interest B: Aidan Brewster, relation—registered sex offender living on same block. From there, they outlined means, motives, and opportunity.

Means was left blank, as they lacked information on what exactly had happened to Sandra Jones. Killed, kidnapped? Ran away? Never good to make assumptions at such an early stage in an investigation, so they moved on.

Motives. Jones stood to gain millions of dollars he might otherwise lose in divorce, plus custody of his daughter. Brewster was a known sexual predator, perhaps acting out long-festering impulses.