A three AM phone call about a locked room changed everything

the radiator heat that hissed in the corner.

The judge, a woman named Miller with iron-grey hair and gold-rimmed spectacles, did not look up when we entered, her pen moving quickly across a thick stack of documents.

We took our places at the long oak tables, Stacey and I sitting with Mr. Vance on the left, while Alan and his lawyer continue reading …