“Every dollar David siphoned out of your savings is written down in that trunk ledger.”

At three o’clock, Sarah parked her old Buick in the visitor lot outside the Oak Creek police station.

Detective Lewis sat across from me in a little interview room that smelled of floor cleaner and stale coffee grounds.

I took the slip of paper out of the lining of my right shoe and laid it flat on the wooden table.

“The post office box is registered to Brenda Miller,” I said.