“My memory is clear,” I said.

Arthur turned his head toward the window, his jaw tight.

“You were always very quick to think the worst of us, Mara.”

“We have other items to review,” Harris said.

The air in the room grew warm as the noon sun hit the high glass.

Detective Sloan sat in the corner, her small black flip-book open on her knee.

She did not look down as her pen moved across the paper, her eyes fixed on Arthur’s hands.

“Let us talk about your visit to the hospital on Friday morning,” Harris said.