I turn to Oliver. “Tripp told us things had gone missing from the house, but there was never a police report.”

“Did he know?” I ask Colin. “Did Jay know you were sneaking into his room? Taking his things?”

There’s a moment when I think he’ll concede, or maybe even make something up—he won the watch in a bet, it was payment for cheating—but he sits on his hands.

“Let’s see it,” I say, and he withdraws his palms. I don’t know anything about watches, but it looks old—and expensive.

“Right,” I say, “we’ll be bagging that as evidence.

“So,” I pick up the thread. “You had gotten quite comfortable taking Jay’s possessions.” My lip curls. “I guess it’s not a surprise really, that you wanted something bigger, an even nicer token of your,” I pause, “unique relationship.” I lean in. “How many times did you steal Jay’s car before that morning? How often did you drive it before you saw Jay in the crosswalk? How did you know he’d be there?”

His eyes dart around the room, looking everywhere but at my face.

“Do you know what the witnesses said?” I don’t wait for him to answer. “They said that Jay waited at the intersection with everyone else. He saw the car, but the light was changing. He must not have recognized it. Must have thought it would stop, because he stepped off the sidewalk, looked down at his phone, and—bam—” I slam my fists on the table. Colin jerks. “Dead”—a snap of my fingers—“just like that. And you know what all the witnesses agreed on?” I lean in. “That the driver was smiling.”

“I—”

The door to the interview room flies open with such force it rattles the wall. I don’t think Truman even bothered with the handle. Florence Haines is behind him—eyes wide and body still, yet there’s something about the curve of her shoulders and the tightening of her jaw that makes me think that beneath the smooth hair and down jacket thrown on in a hurry is a wild cat that would bite, scratch, and claw her way through all of us to get to her son. Her husband’s half-hidden in the corridor, pale and drifting, a shadow of the man I met a day ago.

Truman is red-faced with fury, trying to keep it together in front of the parents, but even Oliver flinches when he steps into the room, his voice so low it’s almost a whisper.

“Out,” he says.

I stall, but there’s no use.