The rest of it happened so fast, and also in complete slow motion. The FBI took Katie and Sherri into protective custody. Under the protection of the search warrant, they took apart Bobby’s office, bit by bit by bit. It was easy for them to find the hiding place because Sherri had told them about it, but no doubt they would have found it anyway. By the time Bobby got home, there were FBI agents there to arrest him. The same thing happened at Joey’s house, and at Sonny’s, and at Carmen’s: all four within the span of a few hours. Gone.

Sherri didn’t let herself think about Bobby’s face when the agents approached. She didn’t let herself think about him looking around their house, their big beautiful home, feeling confused—feeling scared. Instead she thought about Madison’s parents walking by her empty bedroom. She thought about Madison’s dog lying near her bed, waiting for Madison to come home. She thought about the last minutes of Madison’s life, the wire tightening around her neck. She thought about the little brothers.

Once Bobby was remanded into custody, awaiting trial, Sherri and Katie were allowed to go back home. Sherri told Katie Bobby was gone because he’d been accused of some very bad things. Katie said, “Did he do the bad things?” Sherri looked at her for a long time, and then finally she said, “I don’t know, Katie-kins. I don’t know. But I think he might have. We’ll know more, after the trial.”

It was a small grace that Katie’s school was in another town, but it wasn’t on another planet. People talked and talked and talked. Sherri didn’t get out of the car at drop-off or pickup, the way she used to. She didn’t chat with anyone. While Katie was at school, she hardly left the house. If she did, she shopped in other towns. She wore a hat. Glasses. Whatever it took. She stopped sleeping. She stopped eating. She pulled herself together in the mornings and the afternoons for Katie, and in between she fell apart. Every. Single. Day.

Weeks went by. A month, two, while they prepared the case. Six months, then nearly nine. At some point someone from the U.S. Attorney’s office came to see her. Sherri poured him a glass of lemonade and he said, “We need you to tell a jury everything you’ve already told the FBI, Mrs. Giordano. We need you to testify at the trial. Do you think you can do that?”

Sherri’s answer was immediate. “No,” she said. “Absolutely not.”