It took Lucy several minutes to find it because the file wasn’t well organized. She stared at it, then handed it to Nate. It was clearly the Albrights’ vehicle—the license plate was scanned and printed on the photo—but there was no clear shot of the driver or passenger. There appeared to be four people in the car, but they were indistinct. “In hindsight,” she asked, “what do you think happened?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Obviously they came back to the States. Maybe ran out of money or had a guilty conscience, don’t know.”

Don’t care, either, do you, Detective?

“You can’t tell if the driver is Glen Albright,” Nate said, slapping the photo back down on the table. “This is a copy, not the original.”

Chavez finally took note of Nate’s thinly controlled anger and straightened his chair—and his spine. “That’s what they sent us.”

“They didn’t send you a digital copy?”

“I don’t know, this is the image in the file.”

“But Detective Douglas would know,” Nate snapped.

“Yes, he would.”

It was really frustrating not to have Douglas here, when Chavez clearly didn’t have much information about the case and didn’t seem inclined to help.

Lucy spoke before Nate said something that would get them kicked out of the headquarters. “Would you please ask Detective Douglas to email me all the digital files and photos? We can have our crime lab enhance them.” If there was enough data to enhance.

“Not a problem. If that’s it?”

“One more thing—you interviewed the Young family. Why?”

“The youngest Albright kid was friends with the Young kid. When we started looking for the family, before we knew they’d fled the country, we learned that Ricky Albright went home on Friday with Joe Young and his sister. We thought the family might know where they were going, if Ricky said anything to them about a camping trip or vacation or whatever. He didn’t.”

Lucy tapped the report. “He left the Young house at about six o’clock Friday night, according to Mrs. Young. How far is it from the Albrights’?”

“He left on his bike. Probably ten, fifteen minutes.”

“But the Border Control time stamp is nine thirteen p.m.,” Nate said. “Even driving like a bat out of hell, you can’t get to Brownsville in three hours.”

Chavez shrugged, which irritated Lucy, and Nate was on the verge of losing all semblance of diplomacy. “He could have left earlier,” Chavez said. “If he left closer to five thirty, for example, and the family was waiting for him, they could easily get there. Like I said, they left in a hurry.”

Maybe, Lucy thought. Maybe. But it seemed off. She made a note to talk to the Youngs.

“Where are the photos of the house?” Lucy asked.

“They should be in there.”

“They’re not.”

“You sure?”