I looked at the cracked glass of the screen, where Lauren’s small round photo sat beside the thread.

For two months he had used our daughter as an unpaid informant, feeding her little crumbs of sorrow until she handed over the key.

Rachel opened the driver’s door and stood up.

“Diane?” she asked.

I didn’t answer her.

I pressed the power button on the side of the phone and watched the bright white screen collapse into a thin line before going dark.

My face felt cold and completely still.