“Mrs.

Vance, sit down or leave the room.

You’re presently named in a formal police complaint.”

Eleanor yanked her coat collar tight around her throat.

“What complaint?”

Frank put his glasses back on and reached into his leather briefcase.

He took out a glossy eight-by-ten photograph and slid it across the oak table until it bumped Daniel’s knuckles.

The photo showed the silver electric clippers lying on the white bathroom tile under the glare of the overhead vanity light, ringed by clumps of dark hair.