“Right,” Judy continued. “I mean, one of the criticisms we got over ‘A Violent Nature’—and it wasn’t totally unfair—was that Charlotte seemed to get lost in it all. We were so focused on that awful interrogation of Danny Pine and the Unknown Partygoer and Bobby Ray Hayes that we never really gave the victim her due.”

“So what does the accident in Mexico have to do with Charlotte?” Keller asked.

“Well, what if it wasn’t an accident?” Judy said, holding Keller’s gaze.

Keller felt a flutter in her chest. Always trust your gut. “The Mexican authorities haven’t said anything about foul play,” Keller said.

Judy said, “Maybe our guy knows how to ask a little more persuasively.”

“By paying someone off,” Keller replied.

Judy didn’t flinch. “I wouldn’t call it that. And I can assure you, we broke no Mexican laws.” She snapped her fingers while simultaneously pointing at her oversize handbag, which was just out of reach. Ira passed her the bag, and Judy fished out a tablet. “But things work differently down there.” Judy swiped at the tablet. “They’re more free with investigative materials.…”

“You have their investigation file?” Keller asked. This was important because Keller had received diddly-squat from the Mexican authorities. The local cops in Tulum had snubbed the FBI’s Mexico legal attaché, and the consular officer had been astonishingly unhelpful.

“If you can call it that,” Judy said. “They’re just a small-town force. I doubt they get training about much of anything, let alone how to manage a crime scene or investigate homicide.”

Homicide.

“So what’s in the file?”

“Photos of the scene—they at least did that much.”

Keller swallowed. The Adlers had postmortem photographs of the Pine family. Keller didn’t want to look at them, but she had to. She eyed the tablet and nodded for Judy to pull them up.

A few swipes later and Keller’s breath was stripped from her lungs. Mrs. Pine, even more beautiful than in the photos Keller had seen, was lying on the couch, a book resting on her chest. She looked like she was taking a nap.

“I don’t see any signs of foul play,” Keller said. “It looks consistent with a gas leak.”

“Look again,” Judy said.

Keller moved her face closer to the tablet, studying the screen. Olivia Pine’s face was peaceful. Her long legs—she was a runner, by the looks of them—stretched out on the sofa. There was no blood or obvious signs of trauma. Next to the sofa was an end table. On it, a lamp and coaster. Nothing seemed disturbed or as if there’d been a struggle.

Keller could feel Judy staring at her, waiting for her to see. Then she did.

“The book,” Keller said, touching the novel on Olivia Pine’s chest with her finger. “It’s upside down.”

Judy gave an exaggerated nod.