I’M SERIOUS. THE HEAT IS DEADLY. OUTSIDE, IT’S, LIKE, A HUNDRED and ten degrees, and the sun has baked the brick building since dawn. With the windows closed, my living room feels like the core of a furnace. When Haggerty showed up, face flushed, hair damp, I considered turning on the air-conditioning. But then decided no, let’s not. This guy wants to talk so badly, let him shrivel up in this hotbox. Let him walk out of here a desiccated husk.

In the past two hours, I’ve done most of the talking. I started with Nate’s call in March and recounted all the high points, including meeting DeFiore, Billy’s first appearance, his arraignment, and what happened next. After that, I told him, I lost the thread. Haggerty kept pace, asking questions, follow-up questions, and more follow-up questions. And yet, he never mentioned the heat, not once. Even when his grimy sweat dribbled down his face and stained his collar, he didn’t flinch. So, points to him for grit and endurance. Not that I plan to give up. Haggerty may have won the battle, but our war rages on.

While he’s in the hall, I steal into my bathroom and suck two hits off a joint. Not enough to lose my wits, but enough to feel faraway and chitchatty; enough to retrace my steps, fix any loose ends, and close up shop.

Haggerty’s primary questions were about Billy, obviously. “Tell me a story,” he said, just like my brothers at Hawkins Cove. “I’m open to anything.”

I hadn’t forgotten DeFiore’s instructions to keep quiet: Do not talk to anyone without a lawyer present. But I agreed to talk for two reasons. The first is personal. I wanted Haggerty to see my family’s complexity, our humanity, the day-to-day reality of our lives. The world has appalling misconceptions about the rich. But we’re no different from people with less money, or no money, not in the ways that matter. We fear our mothers’ disapproval. Our fathers mortify us. We forget their birthdays. Our impulsive decisions disappoint them. We form alliances, hold grudges. We behave childishly, indefensibly. But just as we reach the point of no return, there is kindness, forgiveness, flashes of grace. We are normal, everyday people; wealthy, sure; but otherwise just like anyone else, just like him.

If you want to know us so intimately, Detective, I told him, pull up a chair.