By one o’clock that afternoon I was in an interview room at the Second District with a detective named Aurelio Ruiz.

He was about fifty, built like a man who had been much heavier at some point, and he had a legal pad rather than a laptop, and he did not say a single sympathetic thing to me for the first hour, which I have come to understand was a kindness.

He took the account.

All of it, in order, twice.

He asked me for times and I had them, and I watched his face change slightly the fourth time I produced one.