"I don't know. I don't understand. When they came to arrest me I asked them-"

"And what did they say?"

She shrugged, apparently mystified. "They got to talking about my rights, warned me about anything I said, that I could have a lawyer, that kind of thing."

"But you saw this was coming? You must have-"

She stopped him, interrupting with a dry noise that sounded bitter when it came out. "I haven't thought about anything, don't you understand that? I've been trying just to get through the days."

Hardy knew what she meant. She scraped a fingernail over the tabletop, staring at the yellowing strip of varnish that lifted and flaked away. Again, she swallowed – as though keeping herself from breaking down. But her voice – the tone of it – sounded almost matter-of-fact, if weary. He was sure the coloring was protective. Well, she would have to try to soften it if her case ever went to trial, if she ever testified. She would come across as too cool. Even cold.

But that, if at all, was a long way off.

"I was just getting used to the awfulness of it. I mean, okay, there might have been somebody who was robbing the house or had some problem with Larry – I don't know what. And Larry gets shot. Larry, Jesus… But Matt…?"

She was losing the fight with her tears.

Hardy was with her. "The papers always said Matt must have been an accident, he walked in at a bad time, something like that."

She nodded. "That's what I've been thinking about, Mr. Hardy. If only he hadn't been there, if it had been a school day, if Matt hadn't walked in or said something or whatever it was he did… Or if I had stayed home, could I have protected him?" She bit her lip, hit the table with her small fist. "That's what I've been thinking about, not the goddamn reasons somebody might have thought it was me. And that's all I've been thinking about." A tear hit the table and she wiped at it with her hand. "Goddamn it," she said. "Goddamn it."