Hudson felt heat rise in his cheeks. He had to admit, her knowledge of that surprised him.

But it shouldn’t have. Garrison’s death was currently the most covered story on just about every local media channel. The buzz would die down soon. They needed answers before it did. Before whoever killed him slipped back into the shadows. Before Garrison’s death became another unsolved mystery in a stack of unsolved mysteries.

“You don’t know anything about red dreads?” he said after a moment.

She fingered the vents then, turning the dials so they were all just so, an even amount of space between each blind. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Officer Garrison didn’t say anything to you, give off any indication that he knew his attacker?”

“No.” She said it quickly. Dismissively. A lie already queued up?

Hudson decided to change course. “It was after eleven.”

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t a school night.”

“Are you normally out that late?”

Morgan sighed. “I’m thirty-one years old, Detective. My parents don’t enforce a curfew, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“What were you doing before then?”

“Shooting an event, like I told the other guy. Thus the camera I no longer have.” She tossed her arms up as though to demonstrate how empty-handed she was.

“Where?”

“On the lake.”

“Where on the lake?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Morgan, you’re the one on a time crunch, not me.” He hoped she didn’t call his bluff. He should be on his way to the impound lot right now. “Where were you on the lake?”

She leaned forward to hug her knees. “At the Reynolds estate. They asked me to shoot their Christmas party.”

Reynolds. The name caught him like a hook to the chin, though he tried not to show it. “You worked pretty late.” If he kept tossing threads out, maybe she would pull on one and unravel a bit, he hoped. “The Fast Mart isn’t exactly on your route home from the Reynolds residence. In fact, it’s like six miles out of your way. You couldn’t go the next day?”

“Look at you, throwin’ down rhymes. And here I thought you was s’posed to be solving crimes.”

“I never said I was a poet.”

“At least you know it.”

“Miss Mori.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was out of gas. Almost. It’s not good to let your car sit on empty in this cold, you know. It’ll freeze your fuel lines.”

“I do know that. But thank you.” He tried to think of how Sergeant Kole might handle this conversation. How he might get her to talk. He tugged another thread. “Were you alone? You know, that isn’t the safest part of town for a woman—”

“Whoa, sexist much? I can handle myself.”

Hudson studied her, this fragile thing buried in a knit blanket. A child wearing boots too big for her feet. Piercings to make her look tough, untouchable. But she was scared; he could sense it. It was in the way she never looked at him. The way she chewed her nails, bounced her leg. She kept staring straight ahead, as though if she didn’t acknowledge his existence, he would simply go away.