At 8:17 that morning my brother Emmett arrived — with two state detectives, and a look on his face I will never forget as long as I live.

The detectives had already begun pulling Beckett’s communications, and what came off his phone was worse than the recording, because it was so casual.

At 8:02 he had texted Larissa: By tonight we’re finally free.

The doctor’s handling it. And Larissa had written back, within the minute: Just make sure she doesn’t change the terms of the trust before they put her under.

I read that one twice. Before they put her under. They had thought about the anesthesia.