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Emmy took a stuttered breath as she walked across the room. Her vision was jittery. The stop-motion had returned. The GBI had jurisdiction over all officer-involved shootings. Sherry was investigating the murder of Sheriff Gerald Clifton.

“Paul’s sleeping it off in the cells,” Sherry said. “Hannah asked for a lawyer.”

Emmy wasn’t surprised. She had drilled it into Hannah years ago that you never speak to a cop without a lawyer present. “Anything from the bystander videos on the scene?”

“Nothing useful,” Sherry said. “But you should know the Culpepper woman posted a video online that shows Gerald. CNN blurred out his face, but it’s pretty graphic.”

Emmy told herself that she would think about that later. “Dervla Culpepper wasn’t filming Hannah and Paul when the gun went off?”

“She couldn’t. Gerald put his arm out in front of her. He was trying to protect her.”

Emmy filed that one for later, too. “What about witnesses? There was more than two dozen people there.”

“A third of them say Hannah was holding the gun. Another third say it was Paul. And the remaining third were too panicked to see anything.”

That sounded about right. “What do you need from me?”

“Details,” she said. “I’ve got your statement, but you’ve had a while to think it over. Are you sure you couldn’t see who was holding the gun when it fired?”

Emmy had heard variations of this question at least three times now. She knew the technique, had used the same one on Elijah Walker. You kept repeating yourself because you were either probing for new information or trying to spot changes in the story.

She told Sherry, “No. I’m sorry. I had tunnel vision. I was looking at the gun, not who was holding it. The only other thing I saw was my son running down the street. And then I saw my father, and …”

There was a solemnity to their silence. Sherry had worked with Gerald for years. Every law enforcement officer in the state either knew of him or had worked directly with him. Emmy had ignored condolence calls from police captains, sheriffs, the state speaker of the house, even the governor.

“Emmy,” Sherry said, “I know the director has already reached out to you, but if your family needs anything from the agency, we’re here.”

She nodded. “Appreciated.”

“Has a CCAO been in touch?”

Emmy nodded again. When a cop was murdered, a Civilian Crisis Assistance Officer was immediately assigned to sit with the family and walk them through next steps—navigating death benefits, insurance claims, state and federal resources, the press, and eventually funeral procession planning.

None of which Emmy could think about right now.

She said, “Tommy already talked to him. They’re gonna meet in the morning. I should get back to work.”

“All right, let me know if you remember anything else about the gun.” Sherry gave Emmy’s arm a squeeze. “The medical examiner will be here in half an hour if you want to see your father before they take him back to headquarters.”

The noose pulled tighter around her neck. Everything was happening so fast. Gerald would be gone from town before the sun came up. “I’ll let Tommy know.”

Emmy took out her phone as an excuse to end the conversation.

She sent a text to Tommy as she walked toward the hallway.

He was still awake. He tapped back a thumbs up almost immediately.

The emoji was Tommy’s version of their father’s okay .

It could be either an acknowledgment that he’d seen the information or an indication that he would meet her at the funeral home.

Emmy guessed she would find out in half an hour.

That would give her enough time to go back at Elijah.

Or maybe she should talk to Carol Walker again.

Brett had questioned her earlier, but when Emmy had tried to follow up, Paisley’s mother had been so hysterical that a doctor had to be called in to medicate her.

Emmy assumed the Valium had worn off by now.

She should ask the woman about her brother.

Test the couple’s marriage. See if Elijah’s worries about modesty had caused a point of tension with his daughter.

But she couldn’t.

Emmy walked out the side door into the parking lot.

It was almost two in the morning, but this was the first moment since her father had died that she’d had entirely to herself.

She needed a moment to feel all the things that she’d been trying not to feel.

To give in to the anxiety that was turning her body against her.

To breathe in the night air and listen to the silence.

She leaned her back against the wall. The rough brick scratched against her shoulder blades.

She looked up at the dark sky. Closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“Dad,” she whispered, “what do I do now?”

She knew what Gerald would’ve said.

What did they know?

Paisley Walker’s chance of survival had entered the single digits. The girl’s father was hostile and controlling. Her mother was catatonic. Their only lead was a Hispanic man who drove a truck so ubiquitous to the area that he might as well have been in Wonder Woman’s invisible jet.

What did they think they knew?

A full four months after Paisley’s interaction with the landscaper, Elijah was still angry about his daughter wearing tight shorts.

He seemed to have the attitude that a child was responsible for a grown man’s actions.

It was hard to tell if Elijah had an unhealthy obsession with his daughter or was just being a controlling asshole.

“Emmy?”

She squinted her eyes in the darkness. A tall man carrying a briefcase was walking across the parking lot. He was coming from the direction of the jail complex. She felt her heart sink when she recognized him. Dylan Alvarez was the last person she needed to see right now.

Emmy pushed away from the wall. “What are you doing at the jail in the middle of the night?”

Dylan said, “I’m representing Hannah.”

“You practice family law. She needs a criminal attorney.”

“Which is exactly what I told her, but she’s not listening to me. She’s too distraught to listen to anybody.” Dylan set his briefcase down on the ground. “Is there some way for you to get a message to her?”

“Are you serious?” Emmy struggled to rein in her temper. “You’re really asking a cop to send a message to your client?”

“You wanna dial back on barking at me like I’m an ignorant toddler?” Dylan was obviously pulling back at his temper, too. “Hannah’s fucking devastated. You know she worshipped your father. He was there when her own father died. And her mother.”

Emmy knew. She had been there, too.

He said, “I can’t even get her to tell me what happened. She just keeps saying she needs to know you’re okay.”

“So I should slip her a note in the cells with the GBI watching?”

“I know it’s a stupid idea, but I’m trying to get a resolution that doesn’t put Hannah on death row for being a cop killer.”

Emmy felt like an ax blade had lodged into her heart. She hadn’t let herself think past Sherry Robertson’s questions.

Dylan laid it out for her. “The GBI will use the same strategy they used against the father of that school shooter. The revolver that Paul brought to the scene is registered to Hannah. She kept it in a safe that she knew Paul had access to. She knew that he’d made death threats toward you and your father.

She knew he was volatile and unpredictable.

And unlike the father, Hannah was there at the scene standing beside a cop and said nothing.

Eventually, they’re gonna find a witness who’ll testify that she was touching the gun when it went off.

That’s going to be all the jury needs to send her down. ”

Emmy had broken out into a sweat. She’d made Hannah buy the gun for protection when she’d moved back home after college. “She was trying to stop him. She yelled to warn me. I told that to the investigator.”

“What else did you say?”

“That I’m a shitty witness. I was freaked out. I panicked. I didn’t see whether or not Hannah touched the gun.” Emmy knew she was giving him too much information, but she didn’t care. “They can’t send her to prison if they don’t know who pulled the trigger.”

“Babe, you know how felony murder works. There doesn’t have to be an intent to kill.

Just knowing about the gun, about Paul’s intentions, is enough to charge her.

” Dylan’s words were stark, but his tone was soft.

“Your father was lionized in law enforcement. Every eye in the county is on the prosecutor right now. She’s got an election coming up in November. You know what she’ll do.”

There was no air left in Emmy’s lungs. She hadn’t put the pieces together because she hadn’t wanted to. “Hannah’s a schoolteacher. A mother.”

“She might get a plea deal if she testifies against Paul, but even with that, the legal fees, losing her job, fighting it out in court—she’ll be destroyed.”

“Is that why Hannah is reaching out to me? She’s worried about being charged?”

“She’s reaching out to you because she’s swallowed up in grief. And she’s worried about you. We’re both worried.” Dylan’s voice grew even softer. “Your father died in your arms, Emmy. Where’s Cole? What about Celia and Tommy?”

“Cole’s working. Celia and Tommy are looking after Mom.”

“Who’s looking after you?”

She covered her watch with her hand. She thought about the blood caked into the crown. Gerald had looked after her. From the moment she was born, she had always been sure of her father.

“Babe.” Dylan’s tone was filled with kindness she didn’t deserve. “It’s not a bad thing to admit that you’re mourning. I’m mourning, too.”

Emmy felt her spine stiffen. “There’s a fourteen-year-old girl who’s probably dead right now. You want me to go cry in a corner when I’m the only one holding this entire department together?”

“God forbid you show any weakness.”

“God forbid you let me process shit in my own way.”