“I tried everything.”
From the corner of the hallway, a small voice spoke.
Sasha had been standing there the whole time, still in her prom dress, holding her borrowed car keys.
“Detective?” she said. “What was the filing date on that amendment?”
Ridgeway frowned.
“November seventeenth, 2009. Why?”
Sasha lifted her chin.
“Because I work Saturday mornings in the county records office,” she said. “And I’m pretty sure the court kept a copy.”
PART 4
On Monday morning, at 8:55, I stood outside Courtroom 2B in the Oakdale County Courthouse and could not feel my hands.
My mother was beside me in her good navy dress.
She had slept four hours.
On my other side stood Ms. Carmichael, a probate attorney in gray who had stopped by Greenfield Memorial on Saturday after Mrs. Okafor made one phone call and refused to hang up.
“I don’t charge hospital families,” Ms. Carmichael had said. “Besides, Mrs. Okafor told me she’d keep calling until I said yes.”
