Before Charlotte could answer Johnny came out of the bathroom in clean sweats, rosy, tousled and damp. He looked cheerful until he saw that Charlotte was still there.

“Is there any hot water left?” Kate said.

“Sure,” he said, and vanished into his bedroom. The door shut most definitely behind him.

There was a brief silence, broken by Charlotte. “I was thinking that you could look at the evidence. Maybe with all this new DNA technology, there would be some way of proving she didn’t do it.”

“Ms. Muravieff-”

“ Charlotte, please.”

“ Charlotte,” Kate said, “your mother’s been in jail for thirty years. We haven’t been a state much longer than that. Back then the Alaskan judicial system was still figuring out how to find its own ass without even a flashlight, much less two hands. Besides, we’re not talking about a cold case here. Your mother was tried and convicted. They’d have had no reason to keep whatever physical evidence they had in your mother’s case. It’ll be long gone.”

“Well, then, witnesses,” Charlotte said.

Kate didn’t know if this was loyalty or stubbornness speaking, but she admired both, which kept her response more civil than it might have been. “Same goes,” she said. “Thirty years. Some of them are bound to be dead, or just unfindable.”

“But Brendan says you’re the best,” Charlotte said stubbornly.

Exasperated, Kate said, “Why did you wait thirty years to do this?”

“She’s dying,” Charlotte said.

There was a long pause. “I see,” Kate said at last. “What does she have?”

The tears began to flow again. The handkerchief reappeared. “Uterine cancer.” She met Kate’s eyes. “I don’t want her dying in prison. I won’t let that happen.” Charlotte rummaged in her genuine-leather day pack and pulled out a checkbook. She scribbled Kate’s name, an amount, and a signature, and ripped it out and handed it to Kate.