Dad pops his head round the door. “Tess? Time to go to the police station. I’ll give you a lift.” He comes in and leans to kiss Julia. “Do you want to come for a ride, Ju? Get some fresh air?”

“No, thanks, baby. I’m tired. I think I’ll go and rest.”

“I’ll see you for supper,” I say, squeezing her hand.

She looks exhausted. “I think I’ll skip supper, actually. I’m not hungry at all.”

I watch as Dad helps her up. She’s been resting more and more, the determined energy she found when I arrived with Max and Lena fading.

God, I wish we could throw her a party. Fuck Jack and Sean and Greg. I’d love to hear Julia’s laugh again, listen to her singing along badly to some party mix CD.

Dad drops me at the police station. He wanted to wait but I insisted he go back to Julia, telling him I’d get the bus back. I know they’ve already spoken to Max and Lena and that’s not helping my nerves. I can’t settle. I shift in my seat, look around the room. It doesn’t look like I’d imagined it to from all the books I’ve read where suspects are questioned. It’s less bleak and official looking. It looks like a meeting room in an office. But then I guess I’m not here as a suspect, am I?

The door opens and a man walks in, smiling. “Tess? Detective Levinson—do you remember me?”

I do. He’s the same detective who came to see Jack and Sean, the same man who spoke to me after Bella died, bald spot bigger, more lines on his face. I realize he is the familiarity I felt when I sat in front of that doctor. He reminded me of the detective with his wary, pitying expression.

I remember my disorientation when I woke up in the hospital; the detective’s face when he had to tell me Bella was dead. I also remember my meltdown afterward, my frantic insistence that someone had killed Bella, stupid, wildly shouted accusations without anything to back up what I said.

“Do you mind if I tape our chat?” he says now, fiddling with a tape machine. “You can say no, that’s fine—you’re here entirely voluntarily, but it’ll help if we have the whole conversation to refer back to.”

I hesitate. I want to say no, but how will that look? I shrug. “That’s fine,” I say. “I don’t think I’ll be able to help you, though. I haven’t lived here for a long time.”

“We’re aware of that. I’m sorry to hear about your stepmother. And your recent accident, as well.”

I touch the fading bruise on my head. The accident? What does that have to do with anything?

“We spoke to Mr. Rees.”