“They look as if they’ve been cleaned thoroughly, but we found traces of blood on those, too,” Annie said. “And do you know what? It was Mimosa Moffat’s blood. You tried to get rid of it, didn’t you, scrubbing and polishing, but it’s hard, Paul. It gets in the seams, and it’s hard to get out.” Paul seemed to be shrinking deeper into his chair. Annie pressed her advantage. “And do you know what’s worst of all,” she went on. “What’s probably the most appalling thing anyone can do to another human being.” She let the silence stretch. “You jumped on her, Paul. I don’t know whether you did it while she was still alive or after you’d killed her, but you stamped on her, and that stamp made an imprint. And that imprint—from Mimosa Moffat’s skin, Paul—matches the right shoe you were about to get rid of when Superintendent Carver’s men apprehended you. There are several scuffs and scratches on the sole that act as unique identifying features. What do you have to say to that?” Annie let the silence stretch again. “Nothing?” she said after a while. “Well, that shouldn’t surprise me. I mean, what is there to say after you’ve punched and kicked a defenseless young girl to death and stamped on her when she was down?”

“I didn’t . . . I didn’t . . .”

Annie leaned forward. “You didn’t what, Paul? Come on, I’d like to know. Because right now I’m just thinking you were such an arrogant bastard that you didn’t even bother getting rid of the shoes you kicked her to death with until after you were worried we were getting close. Don’t you think it’s time to come clean with us? I told you it was the end of the road.”

Paul looked at her. His eyes were red rimmed, his face drained of color. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t mean to what, Paul?”

Jessie Malton leaned over to whisper something, but Paul brushed her off and said, “Kill her. I didn’t mean to kill her,” before she could stop him. Jessie Malton dropped her pencil on her legal pad and looked up at the ceiling, muttering something under her breath.

Annie felt the tension leave her body like air from a tire, but there was still more work to be done. “You’re admitting you killed her, are you, Paul?”

“Yes. I killed her. But I didn’t mean to. The silly bitch.”

“Why did you kill her?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“You loved her?”

“Loved? I don’t know. Maybe. I wanted her. Or I thought I did.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

Warner stared down at the bare desk for a few seconds before answering. “Once. Yes.”

“How did that happen? Did you give her a roofie and rape her?”