I ran my fingers along the window frame, shining the light across the fire-warped paint, a shriveled and puckered white, like dead skin. I could see where the wood had been damaged before. I could see where it had been secured with nails again: bang-bang-bang. I propped the flashlight on the window sill. It took me a few minutes to get the flashlight angled properly so I could see what I was doing and still have both hands free to work. I edged the narrow curve of the crowbar into the window frame and pried it loose with a crack so deafening it made my heart skip. I believed Elaine had been killed with a sash weight that had been tucked back in the window frame and nailed into place. The notion had come to me in one of those flashes of insight when I heard the weights in my own bathroom window thump dully against the studs.