The policewoman informed Margaret about Tate’s visit, as usual. She groaned in annoyance before she was escorted from her temporary cell to the interrogation room. She wondered why there wasn’t a limit to the number of times Tate could visit her in a day when her own daughter was only allowed fifteen minutes.

When she stepped into the room, Tate was already there, leaning against the wall behind his chair. Margaret’s eyes stuck to the floor, like it did the last few times. But unlike the last few times Tate came to see her, she didn’t feel his gaze on her.

She took a peek, and realized that Tate had...