“We found traces of human blood in the seams of the truck bed,” Sloan said.

“Quite a bit of it, actually.”

My throat felt dry, like I had swallowed a handful of sand from the hospital parking lot.

“They told me he was home,” I said.

“My mother swore he was in his room by nine.”

Harris clicked his pen again.

“They knew what was in the truck before they came to your car,” he said.

The words sat in the small room, heavy and cold.