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“Once or twice a week. More, if Sylvia had time.”

Turner plopped into the chair all the way to the left just as Fisher moved to take it. “So you were sleeping together?”

Josie barely kept her eye roll in check. As usual, his interview style was the equivalent of taking a wrecking ball to a safe when he couldn’t get the combination just right.

Predictably, Louis looked horrified. “I—I’m not comfortable talking about that. That—that’s personal and I wouldn’t disrespect Sylvia’s memory by discussing such private matters.”

Turner folded his arms across his chest, leaning back and extending his long legs out in front of him. “You’re forty, right?”

“What? I mean yes, but how did you⁠—”

“You were younger than Sylvia,” Josie said. “She was fifty-four.”

“That didn’t matter. We were both adults. What are you getting at? Are you trying to accuse me of something?”

Turner manspread even more. “We’re just wondering why you were so interested in a woman fourteen years older than you. Most men would be looking for a younger woman.”

“I was looking for a soulmate,” Louis blurted out.

“You believed Sylvia was your soulmate?” Josie asked.

“Yes,” Louis said, eyes glassy with tears. “Yes, I did.”

“Were you hers?” Turner pulled the chair next to him closer so he could throw one arm along its back.

“It was very hard for Sylvia to trust men,” Louis deflected. “She needed time and consistency, and that’s what I was giving her. She needed to know I wasn’t going anywhere and I wasn’t rushing her.”

“You weren’t rushing her,” Josie chose a random chair and pushed it toward him. “But you were in a serious relationship. Which is it, Louis?”

His knuckles turned white as his fingers gripped the chair back. “It’s—it’s both. It was always one step forward, two steps back with Sylvia but even when she pushed me away, I wanted her to know I wasn’t going anywhere. She could trust me not to leave.”

“Was she afraid of you leaving?” Josie asked.

“Well, yes, her husband left her when her sons were young. He put her in a very bad position.”

“Was that the only reason she had difficulty trusting men?”

“No. There was the attack, of course. The Last Kiss Killer. He really traumatized her.”

“Did she talk to you about the attack?” Turner spun the chair next to him so that it was in front of him and threw his feet onto the seat.

“Not really, no,” Louis said, staring hard at Turner’s well-used brown loafers. “She would never talk about the details, about what happened that night, but she said often that it was the most traumatic event of her life. I thought it was very brave of her to finally go through with the interview.”

“Did you think the interview was a good idea?” asked Josie.

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly, lifting his chin. “I encouraged her to do it once and for all. She needed to take her power back. Her agency. Get it off her chest so she could move on.”

“You weren’t worried that the killer would find out and come back to finish the job?” Turner said.

“We talked about that. She often said she thought he could be watching her, making sure she didn’t step out of line.”

“Step out of line?” Josie said. “In what way?”

His knuckles were still white along the chair back, clutching it like it was a shield between him and them. “I think she just meant that she felt like he was always around somewhere, watching her.”

“Had anything happened to make her believe that?” Josie said.

“No, no. She didn’t say that.”