My fingers trace the intricate patterns in the wooden table. Mum is sitting in the couch, staring at the wall as if she could see a picture of Alicia there, like maybe, if she looked hard enough, her sister cound reach out of the wall, coming back into her life.

Deputy Clarke sits across from me, trying to discover something, anything, about Alicia Tyrell. Clarke has dark skin and is middle aged. He seems forceful, I can tell he won't take no for an answer. He is dealing with me and Mum calmly, but sternly, scolding us if we get distracted or cry.

"What were her words to you, Juliet?" he asks me, pacing around the table.

"She told me she had to leave," I sniffle. "She said she had to go work on Georgie's case."

Clarke's eyes gleam. "She called him Georgie when she was speaking to you?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't think so."

Clarke slams his fist on the table. "Then why did you say that!?"

My mother jumps up. "Don't speak to my daughter like that!" she says, fiercely. "If you want a drop of information, if you want anything from us, speak to my daughter courteously."

Clarke grits his teeth, furiously, looking at my mum with loathing. "I am sorry, Mrs Windum, but if you want me to discover who killed your sister. . ."

My mum holds up her hands. "You can still discover who killed Alicia without threatening and yelling at my daughter!"

"Yes. I will not say one more word." I say, to please mum.

"I am so very sorry Miss Windum," Clarke says, in a sugary tone.

"Fine then."

Clarke gets back to buisness, and you never could have realised he had said anything, except for the fact that he looked at me and mum coldly.

"I was wondering, Miss Windum, if Alicia Tyrell mentioned anything that sounded like she was going to be dead by morning."

I look at him incredulously. "How would she know that!? How could she possibly know she would be dead by morning?"

Clarke looks uncomfortable. "Well. It is a suspicion that she may have committed, well, suicide."

I can't believe it. They think Alicia died on purpose.

"There is no way that Alicia would have done anything of the kind," I say, choking on my words.

She frowns grimly. "That's what they always say, honey."

For the rest of that conversation, my mind tunes out, too busy running through possibilities. They all lead to one word.

Murder.