“Probably,” said Detective Cooper. “It’s unfortunate, though. Dan Moore deserved to be punished for what he did to Jenny, and to Bobby Green. He knew Bobby Green never killed those boys in that car crash, but he let him serve years in prison for it. Ruined his life,” he said, shaking his head. “I spoke to Bobby earlier and told him he was never responsible for those boys dying in that accident. I told him what really happened that night and how he got burned. He sobbed like a baby.”

“He ruined my life, too,” whispered Hannah. “Not anymore. From now on, I’m doing right by my sister and my mother. I’m going to live a full life instead of one consumed by guilt.”

“You have nothing to feel guilty about. You never did anything wrong, Hannah,” said Rachel softly. “You were a kid.”

“I know that now,” Hannah said. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you did for me, Rachel. You could have ignored me, put me down as a crazy stalker, but you believed me and you were there for me that night on the jetty. We finally know what happened to Jenny.”

“I’d like to show you something,” said Mitch Alkins, his voice husky. “You too, Rachel.”

He led them all down the jetty until they reached the halfway point. Embedded in the timber handrail was a brass plaque com memorating the death of Jenny Stills. It was signed The People of Neapolis.

“It was engraved immediately after the mayor signed off on it yesterday,” Alkins said. “He wanted to honor Jenny’s memory here at the place where she was murdered. He said it was long overdue.”

Hannah ran her fingers over the engraving on the plaque as tears wet her face. It was a small step but an important one. It corrected the record of what had happened to her sister on that beach twenty-five years earlier.

Rachel and Alkins slowly walked back to his car. It was too loud for them to talk over the roar of wind until they were in the Jeep and the doors were shut.

“Do you regret coming back to live here?” Rachel asked as he drove her back to the hotel.

“Almost every day,” he admitted.

“So why come back?” Rachel asked.

“It’s a long story that I can’t go into without violating attorney-client privilege. Let’s just say that I had a case that left me questioning everything I ever believed in.” His voice was low and pensive.

When they reached the hotel, Rachel leaned forward and impulsively kissed Mitch on the cheek before climbing out of the car. He sat behind the wheel with the engine still running, watching her go through the revolving door before he slowly drove off.

Rachel collected her luggage from the bellboy and headed toward the basement parking lot elevator. She stopped abruptly as she noticed a tourist standing at the gilded nightingale cage, snapping his fingers as he tried to get the terrified bird to sing. When that didn’t work, the man tapped the cage until it rocked and the bird fluttered about in confusion.

The hotel manager was on the phone when Rachel stormed into his office. She helped herself to a chair by his desk while he hastily finished his call, and then she told him in no uncertain terms what she wanted.

Thirty minutes later, Rachel was in her car, driving down the congested main street, heading out of town. She turned up the radio to hear a news update. The newscaster announced that if the storm maintained its current trajectory, it would hit landfall along the coastline within forty-eight hours. “Residents of Neapolis and nearby towns are being told to prepare for the worst and to implement their hurricane-disaster plans,” the announcer said. “If you can get out of town, then go. There’s still time.”

The traffic was heavy on the way out of Neapolis. Rachel stopped at a red light next to a strip mall and watched a tradesman on a ladder hammer a plywood sheet to protect a shopwindow. Rachel put her foot on the accelerator when the light changed and drove through.

She checked her voice mail messages as she merged onto the state highway. “Rachel!” It was Pete. He sounded excited. “I’ve found a case for Season 4. I’ve started researching it. I think we’re onto something incredible. This will be the best season ever. Call me and I’ll tell you about it.” Rachel hit delete. There was a long beep before the next message.

“Rachel, this is Cynthia Blair here,” said the crisp voice. “I just want to say that I hope you are very satisfied with yourself. You told us when we met that you were covering the trial to get to the truth. Clearly, you don’t care about truth. All you care about is fame, and money,” she said. “You got your ratings. Didn’t you, Rachel? That’s what it’s all about. You did it by demonizing my son and depriving him of a fair trial. I don’t understand how you can live with yourself. I really don’t.”

Rachel sped up as the message ended abruptly with a click. She drove for a while in silence as she shifted lanes, navigating through the congestion on the highway. She pressed hard on the accelerator until the other cars were well behind her and the charcoal asphalt of the highway stretched so far in front of her that it looked as if it might reach the sky.

Rachel’s eyes flicked to her rearview mirror as she heard a flutter from the back seat. The nightingale was rocking contentedly on the perch in the birdcage.