“How?” he asks, without offering condolences. She doesn’t expect it. In fact, she’s more comfortable forgoing it.

“She died of a drug overdose,” Kateri says.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

She thanks him and looks back at the file. “When your grandfather died, your mother inherited the house, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And the ownership of the house has recently been transferred to you,” she says.

He fights rolling his eyes. “Yes,” he says. “I’m trying to catch up on bills.”

She switches gears. “Your dad is Park Jenkins,” she says.

“Yep.”

“Your mother’s maiden name is also Jenkins.”

“They’re second cousins,” Shannon says.

“Are there other Jenkins around here?”

“No,” he says. “In Vermont. Both my mom and dad have a bunch of brothers and half brothers. They’re all pieces of shit,” Shannon says.

“How so?”

“Poor,” he says. “Stupid. Incarcerated. Dopeheads.”

“You’re not stupid,” she says.

“Thanks,” he says, with a sarcastic lilt.

“When’s the last time you saw Park Jenkins?”

“Two years ago,” he says.

“Where?”

“I visited him in prison.”

“Had you visited him before?”

“No,” he says. “That’s the only time. I couldn’t remember him at all,” Shannon explains. “I just … wanted to see what he was like.”

“And what was he like?” she asks.

“A disappointment,” Shannon says. “He barely talked to me or looked at me.”

Kateri nods. “Has your mother been to see him at all?”

“No,” he says.

“Never,” Kateri says.

“No.”

“So there is no chance Park Jenkins is your sister’s father,” she says.

She watches his entire body jump, and then he closes his eyes and his face grows ashen.

“I’m sorry?” he asks when he opens his eyes.

“Your sister,” Kateri says. “Sparrow Annie. Birdie.”

“I don’t—” he says, and then stops. He takes a minute to breathe, slowing himself down. He starts to cough, and when he goes to take a drink, Kateri sees what he has been guarding with his hood: a large bluish bruise around his neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“We can come back to that,” Kateri says. “Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt your mother?”

He chews his lip, looking down into his lap. He sits slumped into the chair, spine curved. “No,” he says. Then, “My father.”

“Does your father know about your sister?” Kateri asks.

“No,” Shannon says.

She watches his lips purse, his jaw tight.

“Why did your mother run surveillance cameras outside the house?” Kateri asks.

“She was afraid,” Shannon says.

“Of?”

“I can’t answer these questions,” he says. “I don’t know.”

“You lived there. Was she afraid of people finding out about Birdie?”

He puts both his hands to his forehead and rubs vigorously.

“Let me say this,” Kateri says. “You are not necessarily in trouble. But I need all the information I can get from you to secure your safety.”

He breathes raggedly through open lips.

“Your mother is dead and your sister is missing, and you reported neither of those things.”