But I did not believe him. He had been lying from the start. Of that I was now certain. He stiffened as though bracing for my next outburst. But, to my surprise, my voice grew suddenly soft.

"Do you realize what you've done?" I said, barely a whisper. "The damage to my family. My father, my mother…?"

"This doesn't involve you, Will."

"Like hell it doesn't."

"Please," he said. "Both of you. Stay out of this."

I stared at him. "No."

"For your own sakes. You're not going to believe this, but I'm trying to protect you."

"From?"

He did not reply.

"From?" I repeated.

He slapped the arms of his chair and stood. "This conversation is over."

"What do you really want with my brother, Pistillo?"

"I'm not going to comment any further on an ongoing investigation." He moved toward the door. I tried to block his path. He gave me his hardest look and walked around me. "You stay away from my investigation, or I'll arrest you for hindering."

"Why are you trying to frame him?"

Pistillo stopped and turned around. I saw something change his demeanor. A straightening of the spine maybe. A quick flicker in the eyes. "You want to get into truths, Will?"

I did not like his change of tone. I suddenly wasn't sure of the answer. "Yes."

"Then," he said slowly, "let's start with you."

"What about me?"

"You've always been so convinced your brother was innocent," he continued, his posture more aggressive now. "How come?" "Because I know him."

"Really? So how close were you and Ken near the end?"

"We were always close."

"Saw him often, did you?"

I shuffled my feet. "You don't have to see someone a lot to be close."

"Is that a fact? So tell us, Will: Who do you think killed Julie Miller?"

"I don't know."

"Well then, let's examine what you think happened, shall we?" Pistillo strode toward me. Somewhere along the way, I had lost the upper hand. There was fire in his belly now, and I had no idea why. He stopped just close enough to start invading my space. "Your dear brother, the one you were so close to, had sexual relations with your old girlfriend the night of the murder. Isn't that your theory, Will?"

I might have squirmed. "Yes."

"Your ex-girlfriend and your brother doing the nasty." He made a tsk-tsk noise. "That must have infuriated you."

"What are you babbling about?"

"The truth, Will. We want to deal in truths, right? So come on, let's all put our cards on the table." His eyes stayed on me, level and cool. "Your brother comes home for the first time in, what, two years. And what does he do? He strolls down the block and has intercourse with the girl you loved."

"We'd broken up," I said, though even I could hear the whiny weakness in my own voice.

He gave a small smirk. "Sure, that always ends it, doesn't it? Open season on her after that especially for a beloved brother." Pistillo stayed in my face. "You claim that you saw someone that night. Someone mysteriously lurking around the Miller house."

"That's right."

"How exactly did you see him?"

"What do you mean?" I asked. But I knew.

"You said you saw someone by the Miller house, correct?"

"Yes."

Pistillo smiled and spread his hands. "But you see, you never told us what you were doing there that night, Will." He said it in a casual, almost singsong voice. "You, Will. Outside the Miller house. Alone. Late at night. With your brother and your ex alone inside…"

Katy turned and looked at me.

"I was taking a walk," I said quickly.

Pistillo paced, pressing his advantage. "Uh-huh, sure, okay, so let's see if we got this straight. Your brother is having sex with the girl you still loved. You happen to be taking a walk by her house that night. She ends up dead. We find your brother's blood at the scene. And you, Will, know that your brother didn't do it."

He stopped and gave me the grin again. "So if you were the investigating officer, who would you suspect?"

A large stone was crushing my chest. I could not speak.

"If you're suggesting…"

"I'm suggesting you go home," Pistillo said. "That's all. Go home, both of you, and stay the hell out of this."

35

Pistillo offered to find Katy a ride home. She declined and said that she would stay with me. He didn't like that, but what could he do?

We drove back to the apartment in silence. Once inside, I showed her my impressive collection of take-out menus. She ordered Chinese. I ran downstairs and picked it up. We spread the white boxes out on the table. I sat in my usual seat. Katy sat in Sheila's. I flashed back to Chinese with Sheila her hair tied back, fresh out of the shower and smelling sweet, in that terry-cloth robe, the freckles on her chest…

It was odd what you would always remember.

The grief roared back at me in high, crippling waves. Whenever I stopped moving, it hit me hard and deep. Grief wears you down. If you don't guard against it, it will exhaust you past the point of caring.

I dumped some fried rice on my plate and followed it up with a dash of lobster sauce. "Are you sure you still want to stay tonight?"

Katy nodded.

"I'll give you the bedroom," I said.

"I'd rather sleep on the couch."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

We pretended to eat.

"I didn't kill Julie," I said.

"I know."

We pretended to eat some more.

She finally asked, "Why were you there that night?"

I tried to smile. "You don't buy that I was taking a walk?"

"No."

I put down the chopsticks as if they could shatter. I wondered how to explain this, here in my apartment, talking to the sister of the woman I once loved, sitting in the chair of the woman I'd wanted to marry. Both murdered. Both connected to me. I looked up and said, "I guess that maybe I wasn't really over Julie."

"You wanted to see her?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I rang the bell," I said. "But nobody answered."

Katy thought about it. She looked down at her plate and tried to sound casual. "Your timing was strange."

I picked up the chopsticks.

"Will?"

I kept my head down.

"Did you know your brother was there?"

I moved the food around the plate. She lifted her head and watched me. I heard my neighbor open and close his door. A horn honked. Someone on the street was shouting in what might have been Russian.

"You knew," Katy said. "You knew Ken was at our house. With Julie."

"I didn't kill your sister."

"What happened, Will?"

I folded my arms across my chest. I leaned back, closed my eyes, tilted my head all the way back. I did not want to go back there, but what choice did I have? Katy wanted to know. She deserved to know.

"It was such a strange weekend," I began. "Julie and I had been broken up over a year. I hadn't seen her in all that time. I'd tried to bump into her on school breaks, but she never seemed to be around."

"She hadn't been home in a long while," Katy said.

I nodded. "The same with Ken. That was what made it all so bizarre. All of a sudden, all three of us are back in Livingston at the same time. I can't remember the last time that happened. Ken was acting strangely too. He was looking out the window all the time. He wouldn't leave the house. He was up to something. I don't know what. Anyway, he asked me if I was still hung up on Julie. I told him no. That we were history."

"You lied to him."

"It was like…" I tried to figure out how to explain this. "My brother was like a god to me. He was strong and brave and…" I shook my head. I was not saying this right. I started again. "When I was sixteen, my parents took the family on a trip to Spain. The Costa del Sol. The whole place was one big party scene. It was sort of like Florida spring break for the Europeans. Ken and I hung out at this one disco near our hotel. On our fourth night there, a guy bumped me on the dance floor. I looked over at him. He laughed at me. I went back to dancing. Then another guy bumped me. I tried to ignore him too. Then the first guy, he ran up to me and just pushed me down." I stopped, tried to blink away the memory as if it were sand in my eye. I looked at her. "Do you know what I did?"