I didn't sleep at all that night, not even the fragmented, anxious half-sleep I'd managed the previous week. I sat at the kitchen table with Diane on speakerphone until nearly three in the morning, going through everything we had, and everything we didn't, with the particular focused desperation of two people trying to build a fortress out of whatever materials happened to be lying around.
"I want to walk through the timeline one more time," Diane said, her voice thin with exhaustion but sharp, still sharp. "The recovered surveillance photos from Vincent's phone — I have those properly logged with the police now, correct?"
"Yes. Sofia handed everything over the night it happened."
"Good. That helps, but photographs alone won't carry the whole case tomorrow. Judges want pattern, not just
