Mitch is on the settee, sorting through the contents of the magazine rack, separating newspapers into glossy magazines into separate piles on the cushions.
"I'll do that, Mitch. I just remembered there was an article I wanted to cut out."
"Oh, right. No problem." She stands, brushing down her sweater. The cushions shift and the two stacks avalanche down, fanning over the floor. Will's photos, carelessly tucked inside a newspaper, slide from their hiding place.
"Damn!" Mitch hunkers down, gathering the fallen papers. "Sorry, Richard, I didn't mean..."
I move sharply, trying to intercept her, but not sharply enough.
She stalls, recoils. "Oh, my God."
"Mitch, don't..." But I'm way too late.
Hands trembling, her breath uneven, Mitch stares at the police photos. "Who would do this? It
