The hallway was still echoing when Detective Marsh asked me to come to the station that same morning. I assumed it was for a statement. Instead, he led me into a small room, set a laptop on the table, and said the wiretap had caught something none of us expected. Celeste had made one call from the lobby before coming upstairs.

He pressed play. Celeste’s voice was low and hurried. “Once she’s declared unfit, nobody reopens the balcony file.” Then a man answered, and I knew his voice instantly. It was the voice that had held my hand at my husband’s funeral. “Don’t worry,” he said. “She’ll never learn what really happened to Paul.” Marsh stopped the recording. “Ma’am, do you know who that is?”