“A light in Willa’s house. Only a light. But something was wrong with it. . . . And I knew I wouldn’t sleep until I figured it out; I don’t know why, I tell you. Just a feeling. So back I go to the window and this time I realize it isn’t the porch light I see, it’s a half-­burnt-­out-chandelier. . . . But I couldn’t see the chandelier unless the door was open, right?” Rachel and the cop nodded. Golda wiped her running tears with the sleeve of her robe. “But her door’s not supposed to be opened at four-thirty in the morning. Still, I didn’t want to be an asshole and call the cops in the middle of the night only to find out that she just forgot to change the bulbs and the door’s open because she’s taking out the garbage or walking in the garden ’cause she can’t sleep. And then, oh God, the wind blew; and that door swayed sideways and I knew, even from here, that it was busted. So I called the cops.”

Clay everywhere, Ableson had said. He thinks your father-­in-­law . . . your whole mishpochah, killed the boys in Brooklyn.

Rachel stared at Golda, then looked up at the dark house.

“Is your father home?” she asked.

“Of course he’s home.”

Rachel turned and ran down the road. One shoe came off, so she took the other one off and ran barefoot. Golda and the officer yelled at her, but she didn’t stop until she got to her house.

Everything looked the same. She went up to Levy’s room, and stood outside for a moment, then she opened it slowly. He was sleeping on his back and breathing hard, like a man who’d had too much to drink. What if he and the others had gotten drunk, nothing else? What if he woke up and saw her standing barefoot with her hair tangled like a Medusa and her muddy nightgown flopping at the hem. He’d cry out and cover his face. But the blue comforter over him rose and fell rhythmically and after a minute she came all the way into the room. She opened the closet; his dark jackets and trousers hung neatly, his shoes were on the floor in a row. She touched them quickly, then stopped and felt one pair again. They were wet. She turned them over and saw traces of wet mud in the stitching.

She left the room and stood in the hall for a minute, then she went downstairs, out of the house, still barefoot. She went around the side, opened the trash can, and saw something slick and wet inside. She pulled out a wad of gray plastic and unfolded it. It was a disposable raincoat that folds to fit a pouch and it was streaked with gray.

“The gray stuff was clay,” Hawkins said.

Rachel nodded.

“So he was there.”