Detective Harris was leaning against the hood of my sedan, his trench coat buttoned to the neck and his collar turned up against the chill.

“Your attorney delivered the signed deposition to the prosecutor’s office twenty minutes ago,” Harris said as I approached.

“It is done,” I said.

“We got a tower ping on Caleb’s cell phone at three-thirty,” Harris said, his voice dropping to a flat, quiet tone.

“He is on the north side of Columbus, less than three miles from your old apartment building.”

I kept my hands shoved deep into my coat pockets, refusing to let him see any physical sign of panic.