“A lot of them.” Tomasetti goes to the first box, digs around for a moment, then passes me a flash drive. I plug it into the laptop. While it’s being scanned for viruses, I turn my attention to the suicide note and read it for the dozenth time, looking for some hidden clue that’s just not there.

I can’t take it anymore. I can’t live with what I did. I loved Mary. She was sweet and beautiful and kind. But she told her parents about the kid. She was gonna tell everyone. And I went a little crazy. I’m so fucking sorry. Mom, you know I’m no killer. Don’t feel guilty. I’m just so fucked up. The meth fucked up my head. I’m sorry you have to deal with this, but I’m not going back to prison. There’s no other way. I love you, Blinky.

I shake my head, pissed by the lack any real answers. “Fucking coward.”

I look at Tomasetti to find him watching me intently. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” I rub at the ache between my eyes. “I just hate the way this played out.”

“Kate, look at this.”

The tone of Tomasetti’s voice jerks my attention back to him. I glance over to see him staring at my laptop screen, where he’s already opened the first file. All thoughts fall by the wayside the instant my eyes hit the screen. The images come at me like knives. I see Mary Plank lying on an old-fashioned iron bed. A man wearing a full-head latex mask—some sort of grotesque jester—is on top of her, arms braced, his hips pumping. I see his neck muscles straining. Mary wears only her kapp and black ankle boots. Her eyes are unfocused, but the look of revulsion on her face is clear.

“Oh no.” My voice is but a whisper. All I can think is, I don’t want to see this.

“Looks like Long,” Tomasetti says. “Same build.”

The screen goes black. We stare for an instant, unspeaking. Tomasetti is in the process of reaching for the mouse when abruptly the screen jumps back to life. Same lighting. Same bed and sheets. Same bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. A man sits on the side of the bed. He wears the same jester mask, but this time I’m sure the man is Todd Long. My chest tightens when Mary Plank kneels between his knees, her head bobbing as she performs oral sex.

“She’s been drugged.” Tomasetti’s words come to me as if I’m hearing them through cotton. “I’ll bet the pills we found are some type of barbiturate. Or Rohypnol, maybe.”