Vance led us into a small, dark room with a large glass window on one wall.

Through the glass, I could see an interrogation room.

It had a metal table and three chairs bolted to the floor.

A detective was standing in the corner, writing on a clipboard.

A few minutes later, the door to the interrogation room opened.

Two officers escorted Stephanie inside.

She was shivering, her wet jacket clinging to her shoulders.

They sat her down in the center chair and removed her handcuffs.

She immediately rubbed her wrists, looking around the room with wild, red eyes.

“She looks terrified,” I whispered.

“She is,” Marisol said, standing beside me in the dark.

Vance entered the interrogation room, carrying my leather briefcase.

He placed it on the table with a loud thud.

Stephanie jumped at the sound.

“What is this?” Stephanie demanded, her voice muffled through the speaker on the wall. “I want my lawyer.”

“Your lawyer is on his way, Stephanie,” Vance said, sitting down across from her.

“But before he gets here, I want to show you something,” Vance added.