I rubbed my knuckles hard, feeling the rough skin scrape against my thumb.

“Does Officer Henderson have this picture yet?” Mariana asked.

“Not yet,” I said.

“Beatrice just sent it to me.”

“Teresa deleted the thread an hour after she posted it,” Mariana said, reading the header details at the top of Clara’s saved file.

“She thinks nobody kept a copy.”

“She locked the latch, took the picture, turned up the radio, and drove off to eat lunch with her friends,” I said.

“And then she called her defense lawyer at eleven o’clock,” Mariana added.