“Okay,” he says. “I’m stepping out. I’ll give you a minute to think,” he says. “Think hard.”

I pace until Detective Fisher comes in. I ramp up faster than I realize, and when she comes in the door, there’s the vacuum rush of air and I spin around, panting.

“Have you found my sister?” I ask.

“There’s been a sighting,” Kateri says. “We’re getting closer.”

“She’s with someone,” I say.

Kateri says, “She was spotted in a car.”

“What kind?” I ask.

“A Buick,” she says. “Does that sound familiar?”

“No,” I say. I can’t think of anyone who’s driven a Buick ever. “I can’t do this,” I tell her.

“You can,” she says. I like the sound of her voice, even in that closed room. It’s soft, like it has round edges.

“I’d rather just be dead,” I say. My head feels like a whirlpool.

“Sit down.”

“I’ve been sitting down,” I say. All I do is sit down. I’d do anything, I think, to get into the woods, to feel the wind on my face, hear the creak of the trees.

“Do you want a Pepsi?” she asks me.

“Yes.”

She comes back in with a tall plastic cup filled with ice and a can of Pepsi. I crack it open and pour, watching the haze of effervescence. It fizzes at my nose when I drink it, and it smells like summer to me. “I need to talk to Bear,” I say.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she says. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

I look over my shoulder, even though there’s nothing behind me but a blank cinder-block wall.

“I want a different lawyer,” I say. “How can I ask for that? I didn’t ask for this one. I can’t pay for anything,” I say. “I’m going to lose everything.”

“The court will appoint you a lawyer,” Kateri says. “That doesn’t mean that the court lawyer will be bad. Sometimes they’re great,” she says. “What don’t you like about Brewer?”

“He’s like … making it up,” I say. “Because he says it’s what I need.”

“Well,” Kateri says. “That’s the nuance of a defense. Sometimes you have to trust that he can tell the story in a way that’s favorable, in a way you maybe couldn’t yourself.”

“No,” I say. The Pepsi seems loud between us. I wish again for a cigarette. “I don’t know what happened to my mother, okay? But I know what didn’t happen. I didn’t kill her because she tried to strangle me. I didn’t kill her at all.”

Kateri puts her fingers to her lips, thinking, or avoiding.

“Who did?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I swear to God, I don’t know who killed her.”

“No,” Kateri says. “Who …” Her hands go to her own throat. “Who tried to choke you?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with this,” I say.

“You don’t know that,” she says.

“Yes, I do,” I say. “I did it. Myself.”