Shame

released.”
    “As I’ve already stated,” said the sheriff, “the suspect came in voluntarily while we were still in the process of gathering evidence. As for particulars, Lieutenant Borman might better answer those....”
    “Can we set a time?” Lisa whispered. “And I’d like to make this an exclusive interview.”
    Shoe on the other foot, thought Elizabeth. Now she was the one who wanted to duck the spotlight. “Let’s talk outside for a minute,” she said.
    Lisa signaled to her cameraman that she’d be back, then walked out of the room with Elizabeth. With no one around to overhear, she asked, “You
are
Elizabeth Line, aren’t you?”
    “Yes.”
    “What are you doing here?”
    “The same thing you are.”
    Lisa didn’t buy it. “But you’re not from around here, are you?”
    “No, I’m not.”
    “Then you had to have some foreknowledge of the story. You knew something was going on.”
    “Like you,” said Elizabeth, “I don’t know nearly as much as I’d like to.”
    “Are you working with the Sheriff’s Department?”
    Not anymore
. “Only to the degree that you are.”
    “Are you writing another book?”
    “There’s always that possibility.”
    “How long have you been in town?”
    “Not long.”
    “Which means what?”
    “Which means that what’s going on in the press conference is the story. I’m not.”
    “But you knew his father better than anyone.”
    “This story isn’t about his father.”
    “Of course it is. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? And that’s the beauty of this piece. It’s almost like a plot for a horror novel, with the evil passing on from one generation to another.”
    “Try as I might,” Elizabeth said, “I don’t see that beauty. If you’ll excuse me.”
    “I didn’t mean it like that,” said Lisa, talking quickly. “But you can’t pretend the father-son twist isn’t going to make for good play. That’s why I need to talk with you on camera. It will just take a minute of your time. I only need a few of your impressions. A déjà vu thing.”
    “I have to go,” said Elizabeth, walking away from the meeting room and the reporter.
    “Can I have your number at least? I’d like to give you a call later.”
    Elizabeth kept walking. The reporter called out one last question. “What are you hiding?”
    She’d learn, Elizabeth thought. Ambush journalism worked only when a camera was running. Instead of alienating Elizabeth, the reporter should have followed after her and pressed a business card with her home number into her hand. That’s how Elizabeth did it. And it worked. People often called her later just to talk.
    But while it might be true that Lisa Wong had a lot to learn as a news journalist, there was nothing wrong with her instincts. Her last question trailed Elizabeth back to her hotel.
What are you hiding
? Elizabeth wasn’t sure that was something she was ready to answer, even to herself.
    If they ever resurrected the show
This Is Your Life,
Elizabeth thought, her segment would be played out in a hotel room. The dimensions changed, along with the interior design, but mostly there was a sameness to all such rooms. She’d spent the better part of her adult life in anonymous rooms like this one, a prison of her own making. Take away the turndown mint, and add some bars, and her sentence would be complete.
    Six large boxes filled Elizabeth’s cell, boxes her assistant had retrieved from storage and overnighted to her hotel. Facing them, Elizabeth remembered that she had still another promise to keep. Caleb Parker had asked her to look through her old Shame files, had asked her to flag anything that stood out and could possibly have a connection with the present-day murders, but just hours after making his request Brandy Wein had been murdered and he had disappeared.
    There were fewer boxes than she remembered. While working on
Shame
Elizabeth had been naive enough to think that no book had ever been so thoroughly researched. The boxes showed the passage of time, the cardboard blanched and slightly brittle. In some places the masking tape had frayed. The past wanted to spill out.
    This is what a book is, she thought, lots of pieces and threads and gathered memories. There was nothing neat and tidy about the process at all, especially with a true-crime book. The pain was all there, just waiting. Pandora’s boxes. Unbidden, she heard the echo of Gray Parker’s words: “If you do this book right, you’ll fall in