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arrive unannounced and keep the subject off balance. It gave them less time to cook up a story—if there was one to cook up. Keller figured if Sullivan really was as shaken up as she appeared, there was a good chance she hadn’t yet returned to work, so she was likely home.
    The Pine Tree Apartments in Rosebud were tired, in need of paint and maintenance. Carports offered the tenants marginal protection from the harsh Colorado winters, though some appeared on the verge of collapse. The complex had a large pool, covered for the winter, two tennis courts and a BBQ area. It had been a nice family complex thirty years ago.
    Keller decided Mia would be the lead on the Sullivan interview. They parked and made their way up some creaky steps to the apartment marked #238. Mia rapped on the door and waited. Thirty seconds ticked by with no response. She banged on the door again, only harder. She noticed a corner of the curtain covering the window a few feet from the door open slightly. She held out her badge in the direction of the curtain.
    The deadbolt turned a few seconds later, and the door opened just a few inches. The safety chain tightened.
    “Yes?”
    “Ms. Sullivan, it’s Mia Serrano with the RCSO. I was the investigator you talked to at the accident you were involved in last week. Can we come in and talk for a few minutes?”
    “Give me a minute. I gotta put something on.”
    The door closed slowly and caught.
    It was a long minute. The two investigators eyed each other warily. Keller’s senses heightened, taking in every visual cue, sound or movement. They had no way of knowing what was on the other side of the door or around the building. Sullivan was probably touching up her makeup, but she, or someone else inside could be loading up a weapon. Far too many cops die in situations just like this, and Keller knew it.
    He reached for his Glock and nodded for Mia to do the same. Both pulled their weapons, clicked off the safeties and held them low and out of sight. They stayed clear of the doorway and listened closely for anything going on inside the apartment. The seconds dragged on.
    Finally, the chain shifted sharply and the door opened seemingly in a single movement. The investigators both instinctively snapped their muzzles toward the sound, but stopped short when Sullivan’s hands appeared and pulled back the door. They quickly holstered their weapons. The woman hadn’t even noticed.
    Lisa Sullivan apologized for keeping them waiting. Mia gave her the once over. Sullivan looked better than she did the morning of the accident but not by much. She wore a large, old Denver Broncos sweatshirt with jeans and was barefoot. Her face was haggard, with black circles under her swollen eyes.
    Mia introduced Lisa to Investigator Keller. They shook hands, but Sullivan paid little notice.
    “Come in, if you want,” she said. “But I told you everything the other day. This is such a nightmare. I wish I could forget it ever happened.”
    “We understand, but we are just trying to wrap up the loose ends of the investigation. It shouldn’t take too long,” responded Mia.
    “Okay, then.”
    Sullivan guided them through the cramped living room to the kitchen, where she offered them a seat at a small table. Across the kitchen sat an old refrigerator, along with a stove and oven that were at least thirty years old and avocado in color. The burnt orange linoleum on the floor was cracking and peeling up in one corner.
    “What do you need to know?”
    “That morning, you said Mr. Lombard, the deceased, suddenly appeared in front of you. You said he looked to you like a deer in headlights. Do you remember saying that to me?”
    “Not really. I just know that there was nothing I could have done to miss him. It was dark and the curve in the road—”
    Mia cut her off. “No, no, I don’t mean to imply there was something you could have done differently. That’s not why we’re here. We just need to clarify a few things for the