“We all want to live in the moment. I understand that. But if you can’t recall that moment, did it ever really happen? I’m not sure. The Germans started twilight sleep. They thought it would make childbirth more bearable for the mothers. But they were wrong. We stopped using it, of course. The child came out drugged. That was the main reason—at least, that’s what the medical people claimed.” She leaned conspiratorially toward Kat. “But between us, I don’t really think that was it.”

“Why, then?”

“It wasn’t what happened to the babies.” Nurse Steiner stopped at the door. “It was the mothers.”

“What about them?”

“They had issues with the procedure too. Twilight sleep allowed them to miss the pain, yes, but they never experienced the birth, either. They went into a room and next thing they remembered, they were holding a baby. Emotionally, they felt disconnected, removed from the birth of their own child. It was disconcerting. You’ve been carrying a child for nine months. You’ve started labor and then poof—”

Nurse Steiner snapped her fingers for emphasis.

“You wondered whether it really happened,” Kat finished for her.

“Exactly.”

“What does this have to do with Monte Leburne?”

Nurse Steiner’s smile was coy. “You know.”

She didn’t. Or maybe she did. “You can put him in twilight sleep?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you think—what?—I can get him to talk and then he’ll forget about it?”

“Not really, no. I mean, yes, he won’t remember. But morphine isn’t all that different from sodium thiopental. You know what that is, don’t you?”

Kat did, though it was better known as Sodium Pentothal. In short: truth serum.

“It doesn’t work like you see in the movies,” Nurse Steiner continued. “But when people are under, well, the mothers tended to babble. Confessing, even. At more than one delivery, with the husbands pacing in the other room, they confided that the baby wasn’t his. We didn’t ask, of course. They would just say it, and we would pretend that we didn’t hear. But over time, I started to realize that you could actually carry on conversations. You could ask and learn a great deal and, of course, she would never remember a thing.”

Nurse Steiner met Kat’s eye. Kat felt a shiver run down her back. Nurse Steiner broke the contact and pushed open the door.

“I should point out that there is a huge problem with reliability. I’ve seen it happen many times with morphine. The patient will speak convincingly about something that can’t possibly be true. The last man who died in this infirmary? He swore that every time I left him alone, someone would kidnap him and take him to different cat funerals. He wasn’t lying. He was convinced it was happening. Do you see?”

“Yes.”

“So you understand, then. Shall we continue?”

Kat didn’t know. She had grown up in a cop family. She had seen the dangers of bending the rules.

But what choice did she have?

“Detective?”

“Go ahead,” Kat said.

The smile widened. “If Monte hears your voice, it will put his defenses up. If you let me handle it, we may get some useful information for you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to need some information about the shooting.”

It took about twenty minutes. Nurse Steiner added scopolamine into the mix, checked vitals, made adjustments. She was doing this with all too much a practiced hand, so that, for a moment, Kat wondered whether this was the first time Nurse Steiner had done it for reasons that were not purely medical. Kat couldn’t help but wonder about the implications of twilight sleep, the potential for abuse. Nurse Steiner’s seemingly cheery justification—if you don’t remember it immediately after it happened, did it happen?—sounded too easy.

The woman was off, no doubt about it. Right now, Kat didn’t much care.

Kat sat low in the corner, out of sight. Monte Leburne was awake now, his head lolling back on the pillow. He started calling Nurse Steiner Cassie—the name of his sister who died when she was eighteen. He started talking about how he wanted to see her when he died. Kat marveled at how Nurse Steiner seemed to lead him further and further down the path she wanted him to travel.

“Oh, you will see me, Monte,” Nurse Steiner said. “I will be waiting on the other side. Except, well, there could be issues with the people you killed.”

“Men,” he said.

“What?”

“I only killed men. I wouldn’t kill no woman. Not ever. No women, no children, Cassie. I killed men. Bad men.”

Nurse Steiner shot a glance toward Kat. “But you killed a police officer.”

“Worst of them all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cops. They ain’t no better. Don’t matter, though.”

“I don’t understand, Monte. Explain it to me.”

“I never killed no cop, Cassie. You know that.”

Kat froze. That can’t be right.

Nurse Steiner cleared her throat. “But, Monte—”

“Cassie? I’m sorry I never defended you.” Monte Leburne started to cry. “I let him hurt you, and I didn’t do nothing to help.”

“That’s okay, Monte.”

“No, it’s not. I protected everyone else, right? But not you.”

“It’s over. I’m in a better place now. I want you to be here with me.”

“I protect my family now. I learned. Dad was no good.”

“I know that. But, Monte, you said you never killed a cop.”

“You know that.”

“But what about Detective Henry Donovan?”

“Shh.”

“What?”

“Shh,” he said. “They’ll hear. It was easy. I was toast anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“They already had me for killing Lazlow and Greene. Dead to rights. I was going to get life anyway. What’s one more, if it provides, you know what I mean?”

A cold hand wrapped itself around Kat’s heart and squeezed.

Even Nurse Steiner was having trouble keeping her tone even. “Explain it to me, Monte. Why did you shoot Detective Donovan?”

“Is that what you think? I just took the fall. I was already toast. Don’t you see?”

“You didn’t shoot him?”