She didn’t know if any part of her statement would be helpful in building a case, but she had to try. The meeting took place in Alvarez’s hotel room, a generic business suite in a high-rise building along the expressway. “The dates are fuzzy for me,” Jane admitted as the court reporter set up her machine. “It’s been fifteen years. But some events are still crystal clear.” “I’d like to hear anything you remember,” Alvarez assured her. A pink-faced woman with long, silver-streaked hair pulled back in a ponytail, the court reporter asked Jane to raise her right hand and swear that her testimony was true. Her smile seemed kind but professional, and she seemed to go into a daze as she began to record the detective’s first question. “How did you meet Frank Dixon?” “He pulled me over one night as I left a bar on the Docks in Burnson,” Jane said. Trying to stay as close to the truth as possible, she explained how he had told her he would not charge her and had given her a ride home.
