John and I were working on the case in my office. It was weird not having Anna around. I was so desperately hoping that my suspicions were wrong, that she wasn’t dead, just hiding until the case was over or was taking a break. The office was cold, so cold we could see our breath. Neither of us really knew what to do about the whole Stitch thing. “What do you want to do?” I asked John as I stretched out my back. Before he could answer, the door to my office slammed open and an FBI team walked in. “We need you two to come in for questioning,” the only one in a suit said. “Flat tire,” John said.