“She knows who knitted her yellow hat,” I said.

Arthur lifted his heavy cast-iron notary seal and set the brass die over the bottom of the surrender agreement.

He brought his palm down with all his weight, and the metal jaw bit into the bond paper of the signed confession with a heavy thud.

Arthur laid the blue legal folder flat on the walnut table in the fifth-floor waiting room.

A radiator clanked behind the drywall, spitting a dry hiss of steam into the cold air.