I begin pulling photos off the whiteboard. Jay’s face, ashen and bruised. His bitten fingernails. The autopsy report. For a moment, I wonder if it might be possible that Jay faked his own death—that this is some grand scheme with false death certificates and new identities and Jay off on some remote island sipping umbrella drinks. I laugh.

Still on the phone, Teddy raises an eyebrow.

But I’m giddy and agitated all at once. My hands are shaking as I pick up Jay’s transcripts and thumb through the call logs.

Is it crazy, though? The umbrella drinks, maybe. But Jay was scared. There was something going on with his brothers. The “traitor” notes. The two phones. Money might have been involved. Maybe Jay needed to disappear. Maybe he ran over Colin, not the other way around. Maybe his parents were in on it. They identified the body, could have signed a false statement. Maybe Michael was involved, too, hiding Jay at his cabin until he figured out what to do next. I shake my head. It’s too convoluted, too complex. If anything, Jay would be hiding from Michael. And where would Colin fit in?

By the time Oliver arrives, I’ve worked my way back into a circle, where Jay becomes Colin, Colin becomes Jay, and then it all starts over again. One must cancel out the other, but which one remains?

I bring Oliver up to speed, casting occasional glances in Teddy’s direction.

As I go over the missing student report, the visit to the house on Marlin, and the events at the lake, Oliver’s eyes widen. He’s still too groggy to mask his surprise that I convinced Teddy to apprehend the suspect without him and annoyance that he wasn’t called sooner. But when I finish, he looks alert and excited.

He turns to Teddy. “We going in?”

It stings a little, this assumption that it will be the two of them interviewing Colin, but he’s right. I’m suspended. Technically, I shouldn’t be here at all.

Teddy shakes his head. “This one’s yours and Marlitt’s.”

Oliver opens his mouth to point out the obvious—me being there could compromise the investigation; if we get anything good, Truman’s going to have to lose the suspension paperwork—but Teddy reaches up a hand to stop him.

“I’m filling out the report now. And then I’m going home. To sleep.”

Something passes between them—an understanding, no doubt built during the weeks they’ve been working the case without me—and Oliver nods.

“Okay then.” He turns in my direction a little warily. “Shall we?”

I want to laugh again—the fatigue is really getting to me—but I pull it together and follow Oliver into the interview room.