“Yes. His right leg shattered on impact. He still limps.” Charlotte ’s voice was stronger now, the words coming as if by rote, as if she had said them too many times before. “It wasn’t until the next day, when the firemen were able to go into the ruins, that they found William’s body. We were hoping he’d slept over at a friend’s house and just hadn’t heard about the fire at home.”
“One thing I don’t understand,” Kate said. “You’re not exactly a kid, and I’m assuming your brothers aren’t, either. What are you all doing still living with your mom?”
Charlotte looked surprised. “Oh, we aren’t.”
“Well then, I really don’t understand,” Kate said. “Were you all home on a visit? Did this happen over the holidays, or what?”
“Oh, no,” Charlotte said, “it was in the spring.”
“This last spring? April, May?”
“Oh, not this spring. The fire and my brother’s death happened thirty-one years ago.”
Charlotte said it in such an offhand way that it took a moment for her words to sink in. They caught Kate with her mug halfway to her mouth. “You,” she said finally, “have got to be kidding me.”
“No,” Charlotte said, her lips firm now, her mouth a straight, determined line. “I’m not kidding. She didn’t do it, she has served thirty years for a crime she did not commit, and I want you to get her out of jail.”
“Thirty years,” Kate said.
“Almost thirty-one,” Charlotte said.
“Oh,” Kate said, “almost thirty-one. Of course, that changes things completely.” She knocked back the rest of her coffee, ignoring the scalding slide down her throat, and blinked the resulting tears away. She got to her feet. “I’m sorry, Ms. Muravieff. I can’t help you.”