Ethan’s an asshole. Sutton was tired of his antics. And my daughter loves a good drama. Look at what she writes. Are you sure she hasn’t just run away? It seems more in character for her to leave than for him to murder her, the man’s a gigantic pussy, but I guess you never truly know anyone. Let me know if you find her, God forbid something’s actually happened. Have you ever been to Canada? It is incredible up here.

Holly had the sense Siobhan Healy would debate whether to cut short her trip if her daughter’s body was discovered.

The rest of the team was doing all the hard work. There was so much paper being generated, logs and notes and files growing like mushrooms in the conference room. The whiteboard was covered in timelines and conjectures. Jim hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours; he had done an outstanding job of tying together the technical forensics, from the money to the phone calls.

It was the amended autopsy report on the baby that sank them. The waiting tissue samples had been located. The backup lab had finished them, but hadn’t yet sent the final report. High levels of diphenhydramine were present.

It wasn’t SIDS.

The baby’s death was reclassified a homicide. The only question was—accidental, or purposeful?

They kept that back from the media. It was too important a point. Moreno surmised if Montclair got wind of it, that would make him bolt. Better to spring it on him once he’d been taken into custody.

Holly filed her reports and learned everything she could. She paid attention to everything, read every page that went into the files.

The energy in the room was Red Bull on steroids. Everyone had something to contribute. Everyone added a stick to the pyre.

The evidence was damning. Not a slam dunk, not yet. But very damning.

And then they were ready. Two days of backbreaking, intensive work.

Ethan Montclair was going to go down in the morning. The paperwork was in order. The media was in a frenzy. There was still no sign of Sutton Montclair.

Finally, finally, the lights were shut down, and the doors locked. There were high fives, and backslaps. Moreno presided over them all with a benign eye, a proud papa. Instructions were given. They were going to hit him early, a predawn knock, start his day off right.

The jokes, the excitement, it all felt slightly scary to her. They were all 100 percent convinced Ethan Montclair had killed his wife. That it was only a matter of time until Sutton was found. Bodies almost always surface. It’s hard to hide them properly in the spring.

She heard it over and over again. Great job, Graham. Keep up the good work. Get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day. And from Jim, a hopeful, “Wanna get a beer?”