Beatrice read the ten digits off her screen while I wrote them down in heavy pencil against my knee.

“Clara took a picture of her own phone screen before Teresa took the post down,” Beatrice whispered.

“You can see the time right on the top bar.”

“What time did it say?” I asked.

“Ten forty-two a.m.,” Beatrice said.

“Eight minutes before Teresa called her taxi to go to lunch.”

Mariana put her hand over her mouth, her fingers pressed flat against her lips.

“She locked my two-year-old in a hot box to take a picture for money,” Mariana said.