“We’re ready for you, Sarah.” He taps me on the shoulder just as I’m taking a bite out of a stale sandwich from the vending machine. I tell him okay and wrap up the remainder of it. He’s returned to calling me “Sarah” as well. I can’t read this guy, but I feel like he’s hiding something or maybe just not sharing the full truth with me.

“We’re going to put you in the viewing room while I question Jesse Hook.”

As we walk, his hand bumps mine. He says sorry and smiles at me. I return the smile, and I don’t know why I do.

“Right this way.” He directs me into a small room with a large viewing window looking into the interrogation room, the same place Scott attacked Adam and the same room I learned of all of Adam’s infidelities and lies. In a chair where Adam once sat is Jesse Hook. I recognize him from his photo even though it was taken years ago. His face is a bit scruffy now, and he’s thin and lanky. His shaggy ash-brown hair doesn’t appear to have been brushed in days. He’s wearing an oversized zip-up hoodie and jeans. And he looks scared. That’s what stands out most of all. The fear in his eyes.

Did he do it? Does he know who did it? What is he afraid of? Who is he afraid of? He seems like the nervous type and sometimes nerves read as fear, but this seems different. Maybe I’m reading too much into it—hoping it’s more than it is, hoping he has the answers I’m looking for. I’m not one to wait around for answers. I seek them out. I hate this. I hate waiting. I hate not knowing. This little prick better know what I need him to know.

“I’ll be right in there if you need me. Just tell an officer.”

A moment or two later, Sheriff Stevens enters, taking a seat in front of Jesse. Jesse’s eyes widen. He grows uneasy, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. I can see his chest rise and fall as he inhales and exhales deeply. He glances around. Sheriff Stevens hits the record button at the end of the table and takes a seat across from Jesse. He is calm and collected, but Jesse is starting to perspire. He is looking everywhere else in the room but at Sheriff Stevens. I even catch him looking at the one-way mirror, and it feels like he is looking directly at me—almost trying to say something to whoever is on the other side. I stop myself from bursting in and asking every question I haven’t had an answer to since this case began.