Summers: ‘Mhmm… Can I smoke?’ Interviewer: ‘Well, ma–‘ Mrs. Summers: ‘–Please, don’t call me ma’am.’ Pause. Interviewer: ‘Sorr..., Mrs. Summers. I want you to feel comfortable. I’m not here to interrogate you. I’m here to help you tell your story exactly the way it happened.’ Mrs. Summers: ‘I see.’ A muffled noise, followed by the sound of a lighter being used. Mrs. Summers: ‘So, what was your question? Without beating around the bush this time.’ Interviewer: ‘Well… We talked to your husband. I pull over, unlock it, and retrieve my phone.Getting back on the road, I pick up the messages. There's one. First message. Sunday, 700:am. Doug, it's David. I called the house late last night; and got your machine. Disregard that message, by the way. I would've thought you'd have been home by then. Either you were having such a fun time with Wendy that you didn't want to return calls until today, or something's wrong. I really hoping it's the first of those. Call me when you get this. End of. More

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