“We should assume they’re listening even now when we’re alone,” Rachel says, pointing to imaginary microphones in the sky. “They aren’t supposed to because I’m your lawyer and this conversation is confidential. But that doesn’t always stop them. They can use what they hear, even if it isn’t admissible in court. And once the questioning starts, be extremely careful. Keep your answers to the bare minimum. You’d be shocked how the littlest thing can be held against you.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that fire,” I say, and I’m not even sure for whose benefit. I couldn’t care less what Rachel believes. Part of me still very much wants her to leave, but I lack the energy to make her get out.

“I know.” Rachel reaches forward and puts her hand over mine, smiles at me sympathetically.

“Will you just stop?” I pull my hand away. “Do you think I would ever be stupid enough to trust you again? Why are you even here?”

Rachel winces and then nods. “Every way you feel about me, everything you are thinking—it’s wrong. I mean incorrect, inaccurate. But I understand why you would feel that way. I wish I could explain everything right now,” she says. “But I can’t. It wouldn’t be—I can’t.”

“How fucking convenient,” I say, staring straight ahead.

“We can still get you another lawyer, Wylie. But I want to get you someone good, and that could take time. For this interview, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

Finally, there’s a knock. The door opens without waiting for us to say come in and a woman steps inside. She is sturdy-looking, in her fifties maybe—older than my mom, but not old enough to be my grandmother. Her blond hair is cut into a chin-length bob, which makes her wide-jawed face look even more like a square. There is a huge guy with her, younger and much less capable-seeming in his wrinkled khakis and too-tight white button-down.

“Wylie Lang?” she asks.

Polite, but cold. Focused, though, not exactly suspicious. Or trying not to be. Like she’s determined not to make her mind up about anything until she has all the facts. After that she’ll bring the hammer down without hesitation.

“Yeah,” I say, once it’s obvious that she’s actually waiting for some kind of confirmation. “That’s me.”

“I’m Detective Nicole Unger.” She holds out a strong hand, which I shake reluctantly. “And this is my colleague, Danny Martin.” He nods but does not lift his eyes. “Do you know why you’re here, Wylie?”

Already it feels like a trick question. Rachel nods when I glance her way.

“You can answer that, Wylie.” Rachel is right—she is better than nothing. I can already feel her calculating how and when to push the detective for an explanation.