We need to establish the pattern of how they kept track of you.”

“I will tell them exactly where I found it,” I said.

The hallway smelled of floor wax and stale coffee from the basement vending machines.

We reached the heavy oak doors of the grand jury ante-room at ten past nine, and Harris reached for the brass handle.

“Your father is inside,” Harris said, keeping his hand on the wood.

“You do not have to speak to him.”

“I know,” I said.