He tried again.
Not the same way — Okafor had anticipated he might, and I was never actually in danger, because I was never actually alone, though Christopher didn’t know that. There was always someone watching. Always a plan. Always, unknown to him, a net.
He made his move on a night he thought I’d be alone and vulnerable.
And this time, he talked.
Because this time, when the lights went out and he came up the stairs, believing his moment had finally come, he found the bedroom occupied — not by me, but by Detective Okafor and two officers, with the recording running, and everything he said in the shocked, unraveling minutes that followed became the confession that a good lawyer could not explain away.
I wasn’t in the house that night.
I was at the station, with Toby’s hand in mine, listening to it happen through a headset, and when it was over, Detective Okafor came into the room, took off her own headset, and said:
