She unhooked the security chain and opened the door.

The apartment was small, cluttered with cardboard boxes and smelling of old tea.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Sarah said, closing the door behind me and locking it immediately. “If Margaret finds out you talked to me, she’ll have my lease terminated.”

“Margaret Prescott doesn’t intimidate me,” I said.

“Then you don’t know her,” Sarah said, walking toward a small laminate kitchen counter. “She killed my sister. She didn’t push her off that mountain, but she might as well have.”

“I saw the medical examiner’s report,” I said. “The old fractures.”

Sarah stopped, her back to me.

She slowly turned around.

“You saw them?” she asked. “How? They told us those records were destroyed in a system migration.”

“I have access to secure federal databases,” I said. “They can’t delete everything.”

Sarah sat down at her small dining table, her hands trembling.

“Melissa kept a record,” Sarah said, her voice barely audible over the hum of the old refrigerator.

I stepped closer to the table. “A record?”