Detective Peet called and asked Mom to bring me to the police station. I don’t remember much—fear keeps it hidden—but I was led to a small, dark room where six men stood against a wall. Even though they couldn’t see me, their eyes somehow found mine in the glass. My knees weakened and I suddenly needed to pee. “Do any of them look familiar?” Mom had asked me. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth clamped into a hard line, I shook my head. “You sure?” Detective Peet asked. I nodded. “Elouise,” Mom said, “this is very important. Are you sure?” Both adults asked me this more than once. You sure? You sure? I was sure. None of these men in the lineup had been at the liquor store that day. And other than Napoleon Crase, I didn’t know who else could’ve taken my sister. Back at home, Mom stormed around the kitchen, throwing pots and plates in the sink. Her yellow sweat suit hung off her thinning frame—she hadn’t eaten with Tori away, and now shadows darkened the hollows of her cheeks and beneath her eyes.
