We’re missing something—something bigger than Jay, bigger than Katie Coleman.

I look at Oliver. He caught it, too.

Outside the station window the sky’s turning lavender at the edges. In the early-morning light two pines cast shadows on the asphalt that look like gallows, and all I can think is that we are the weary executioners clutching at tattered ropes.

I fill the water for another pot of coffee. We’ve been going at Colin for hours. He declined a lawyer and a phone call, so I make one for him. Around four in the morning, I ring Ben. Not his cell, but his office line. I owe him that much and more, but we need as much time as possible before Colin’s parents arrive.

I sneak a glance at Teddy. He’s hunched over his desk, dutifully typing away. When I fill his coffee cup, he nods, but doesn’t ask how it’s going. Each stab of his finger feels like an accusation. I turn back to the window to watch the leaves blow across the nearly empty parking lot and try to drown the panicky feeling that everything’s spiraling out of control.

Earlier, while we were observing Colin through the two-way mirror, Oliver told me that for weeks the station has been receiving anonymous tips about a suspicious-looking Black man hanging around the Kappa Phi Omicron parking lot the week before Jay was killed. Different numbers, different voices, but all the witnesses gave the same description and suggested that this was the man who stole Jay’s car. The description matched Teddy—right down to the bright running shoes. He said that the day after I woke up in the hospital, Teddy received a noose in a package with a note saying he’d be next. That he hasn’t been sleeping. That he’s had patrols checking on his mother’s house. On Cindy’s apartment. His sisters. Even my parents. But mostly, he’s been driving around himself, making sure everyone’s safe.

Now, standing in front of the window, I watch Teddy’s reflection against the glass, too ashamed to face him directly. I think of Michael’s upturned lip, the whispered words at the memorial service, the legacy of racism, chants, slurs, and microaggressions that mark so many fraternities. I knew Kap-O would be no different but chose to ignore it because I wanted Teddy working this one with me. He rolls his shoulders, writes something on a sheet of paper, and then begins typing again. The heat’s on full blast, but he’s still wearing his jacket—like he can’t get rid of the chill of the lake house and can’t put enough distance between us.

I will make this right, I promise myself.

I open the door to interview room A with one hand, two cups of coffee clutched in the other.