THE REMINDER THAT SHONE OUT at me from my phone two days later was unnecessary. Because I’d known from the second I woke up that this was the day Officer Heron would be back at work.

The night before, I’d sat outside Mr. Matthews’s window and tried calling the number from Anna’s phone again. His phone was in front of him on his coffee table. I couldn’t see the screen, couldn’t tell if it lit up, but I couldn’t hear it ring, and his attention didn’t waver from his television. No one else picked up either.

I’d tried calling the number a third time at lunch, dialing and then scanning the room to see if someone might answer, if I could connect a voice with a face. No luck. I tried a fourth time, calling from my own phone. Again, no one answered, and there were too many people looking at their phones to tell if any of them had received and ignored the call.

It was a relief when the last bell rang and I could finally start making my way toward the police station. The station was located near the top of a small hill, a good twenty minutes from school—or closer to ten if I jogged. Which was, of course, what I did.

Jogging is much easier when you’re not wearing jeans and loafers and carrying a heavy backpack, so I was slightly winded when I arrived. I paused to catch my breath and stared at the station. It needed a new coat of paint, and had for some time—the original color, a rich forest green, could still be seen in some of the protected crevices of the walls, but the passage of time had bleached most of it to a muted mint.

Inside, I walked up to the first person in uniform I saw, a middle-aged woman with a blond ponytail and an excess of eye shadow who was reading something on a clipboard. She moved her lips slowly as she read, and her forehead creased with effort.

“I would like to speak to Officer Heron, please,” I said.

“I’ll see if she’s available,” she said, sounding bored and barely looking up from her clipboard. She disappeared through a swinging door. As it was closing, I caught a glimpse of two officers standing up, arguing, while another one sat at a desk and consulted his watch.

I waited. The walls of the front room were decorated with a few photographs of Montana’s finest scenic vistas, their edges turning sepia.

Officer Heron appeared from the back area. She blinked when she saw me.

“Jess Cutter?”

“Yes,” I said. “Hi.”

She paused and scanned the room behind me. “Are you here with your parents?”

“No,” I said. “It’s just me.”

“All right,” she said. “Would you like to come back and talk?”

I nodded, and she held open the door for me.

We went into a small side room with grayish-brown walls and a musty smell. In it were a small table and two chairs, all of which had a look of resignation to them, like they were tired out.

“Please sit,” she said, gesturing to one of the chairs. “What can I help you with?”

Now that I was here face to face with her, I stalled.

“You gave me hot chocolate that day,” I said. “It was kind of you. I didn’t realize how cold I was until you did that.”

She smiled. “A mixed blessing, then.”

“It gave me something to do with my hands,” I said. I realized, in retrospect, it had been helpful. Some small thing to concentrate on. Small like a button. I might as well ask about that too, I thought. Get it all out now. Start with something concrete.

“There was an item missing from the box of Anna’s things,” I said. “I wondered if you might have it here.”

“Okay, what was missing?”

“A button.”

Her eyebrows went up. “A button?”

“Yes,” I said. “There was one missing from her dress. It should have been somewhere on the ground right next to her.”

The skin between her eyebrows folded together. “I don’t think we found anything like that. I can check, though. It might take a couple of minutes.”

While she was gone, I played sudoku on my phone. I’d almost finished my fourth round when she came back.

“I’m sorry,” she said once she’d sat down again. “I checked the report and there was no button picked up at the scene.”

The scene. Otherwise known as my backyard. “Well, thanks for checking.”

“Of course,” she said. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Okay, I thought. Now you have to do it. Now you have to ask.

“You came to the school, to talk about DARE. I thought…” I closed my eyes, trying to make myself power through it. “It seemed like you looked at me, right after you talked about how badly it could have gone, with you in the car….”

I trailed off, feeling foolish, my gaze dropping to the desk. This is when you say you have no idea what I’m talking about, I thought.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking. I hope you know I didn’t mean anything by it.”

I looked up again, frowning in confusion.

“Accidents happen all the time—without or without alcohol being involved,” she continued. “It doesn’t make what happened less tragic, doesn’t make it anyone’s fault. It wasn’t even like she’d had all that much—but when you’re petite, like—well, you, it can certainly have an effect.”

She wasn’t making any sense.

“What are you talking about? Anna hadn’t had anything to drink. They were supposedly going to drink at Lily’s place, but Anna never got there.”

“No, they found—” She cut herself short and searched my face, looking for some kind of understanding, some sign that I knew what she was talking about.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I must have been confusing her with someone else.”

There are lies that are subtle and hard to spot, and then there are lies that burn with the brightness of a million suns, blinding you with their sheer audacity.

“With someone else?” My disbelief was palpable.

“Look, I shouldn’t have said anything.” She paused. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

I continued to stare at her. She shook her head. “Shit.”

“I don’t understand. Are you saying Anna was drunk?”

“I’m not saying anything. I didn’t say anything.” She wrapped her fingers together, squeezing them tight, as if trying to regain control of the situation. “I’m sorry, but I think you should go.” She didn’t look at me as she said it, not in the eyes, anyway, instead focusing on an area between my mouth and my chin.

“I don’t understand,” I repeated, at a loss for any other words.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you about this,” she said. She got up and opened the door. “You should leave now.”

“She was my twin,” I said desperately. “How can it be wrong for you to talk to me about her? Why can’t you just tell me?”

She looked me in the eye for a moment. And there it was, that sadness again.

“I think you should talk to your parents,” she said.