It’s incredibly easy to do. I have all her information right in front of me. I can even reply to and then erase the email that is sent to her existing account to verify that it really is Jessica setting up the new account. Once that’s taken care of, I use her new email address to register her on a few new forums dealing with abusive relationships and another dealing with self-defense. I even write a quick comment on an overwhelmed parents forum, just to round things out. As I continue to work for Jessica I’ll be able to forward certain emails sent to her real account to this new one. I’ll reply to senders and ask them to update their address book. Of course, that won’t work for her friends, assuming she has any, but there are plenty of emails in her real account that were sent by nonprofits soliciting contributions. Jessica won’t notice if a few of those organizations stop filling her email inbox. This way, everything will look legit.

And when it’s time for her to send and receive incriminating emails . . . well, those will go through this new address too.

I take a moment to erase the browsing history from the last hour . . . but of course, once you do something on the internet, you can’t entirely erase it. That’s good, because for now I only want to hide my activity from Jessica and Travis. When the police eventually look at her computer . . . well, they’ll find what I want them to find.

Satisfied with the work I’ve done so far, I pick up the envelopes and start going through the mail.

An hour later, I find Jessica in the living room, awake again but now she’s just staring out the window, a glass of white wine before her. It’s not quite ten a.m.

“I went through the mail,” I say, sitting next to her again. “I entered the invitations into your calendar. If you like, we can go through them now and decide which should stay there and which should be removed. And, of course, I’ll RSVP for you.”

She says nothing.

I look directly at her, using my best girl Friday tone. “You’ve also been sent several donation requests; we could go through those too. And the ballet would like to know if you can organize another silent auction for them. They emailed a few days ago. You did want me to go through the emails too, right?”

She shrugs, still not looking at me.

I pause for a moment, put my hands in my lap, and angle myself toward her. “Interview me.”

At that she turns, her expression questioning.