Sloan took her mug, the steam rising between her face and mine.

“Then she was covering for him,” Sloan said.

The realization did not surprise me, but hearing a stranger say it made the kitchen feel smaller, like the walls were moving in.

By ten o’clock, the detectives stood by my apartment door, their coats buttoned against the October chill.

The yellow light from the porch fixture cast long shadows down the wooden staircase leading to the street.

Harris stepped out onto the landing first, his collar turned up.