Every time my brother-in-law drove me home, I would lose consciousness and wake up with unexplained aches and pains. My husband would only laugh and say, “You’re just out of shape, that’s all.” After the fourth ride, I secretly slipped a voice recorder into my purse and said nothing. That night, I listened to a phone conversation between the two of them that revealed my blackouts had never been accidental.

She had worked in the annex’s records department for six weeks before resigning.

Detective Ellis had located her through a former employee list.

Dana was terrified of speaking, but she had agreed to meet investigators and, with their approval, speak briefly to me.

She was about my age, with a restless way of turning her paper cup between her palms.

“I didn’t know the whole story,” she said before I could introduce myself.

“I need you to believe that.”