“Where was it?” I resist saying the words glass or bead. “Where exactly on the body?” I’m on the verge of venting my temper.

Don’t give her the satisfaction.

“Like I said in blood. Matted inside her bloody hair,” Bryce says.

“Okay. Harold thought he saw something like that and then he couldn’t find it.”

“Well Anne found it on CT. It lit up like Times Square but itty-bitty like a split pea. It’s so awesome to see it magnified five hundred times on SEM. You can make out the tool marks on it from where it was gripped while the glass was melted,” he says cheerfully, as if we’re having a happy conversation.

“Bryce, I need to be sure that Chanel Gilbert’s name and any other information about her and the case haven’t been released publicly.”

“Certainly not by us. You know of course it’s on Twitter.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Lucy must know she’s dead.

“Oh yes. As of just a little while ago. But I’m not surprised. Nothing’s secret anymore,” Bryce reminds me.

“What’s being said?”

“Just that the daughter of the famous producer Amanda Gilbert was found dead in Cambridge this morning. I don’t know who tweeted it. I guess a lot of people have.”

I get off the phone and find myself staring at a photograph of a hammerhead shark. A big one with dead eyes and bared teeth. The diver is almost on top of it. She’s not afraid. She might be smiling.

Don’t give her your fear. Don’t give her what she wants.

In another photo the same diver is removing a tangle of fishing line and a hook from a tiger shark’s mouth. Chanel Gilbert. Brave and adventuresome. Kind to animals it would seem. Fearless. Sure of herself. Maybe overly confident. Maybe nothing phased her until she was beaten to death on her marble floor, and I envision a blitz attack. She didn’t see it coming.

She was in the foyer barely dressed and didn’t feel physically threatened. I found no defensive injuries that might indicate she attempted to protect herself. Then suddenly she was on the floor being knocked senseless. She was trusting for some reason. She was unguarded and thought she had nothing to fear or she wouldn’t have been in her foyer almost naked. It’s unlikely she would have been in such a state of undress and vulnerability were the person she was with a stranger.

She knew her killer.

The blood pattern shows she was murdered where she was found. But that doesn’t mean her body didn’t lie there for a while. That would explain the time of death not making sense, and another image comes to me. Carrie returning to the foyer and enjoying the afterglow. She may have lived with the dead body in situ for hours or days.