He thought of his own family, and how many of these photos his girls had packed away in boxes. Photos without him in them. A familiar hollow ache filled the center of his chest. He made a mental note to call them on the weekend. They were always home Sunday night.

He would be in the next set of family photos. Him and Anne and the children they would have together. He thought of last night, sitting with his arms wrapped around Anne and Haley both.

He thought of Zander Zahn, who probably had no photos from his childhood—nor would he want any reminders of that painful, horrible time. He wouldn’t want even the memories—which was why he kept them locked away in his strange compartmentalized brain.

He surrounded himself with things instead of memories. Tangible things he could touch and hold. Things that would never leave him. How telling that room of human prosthetics—no whole person in his life, just parts and pieces made of plastic. They couldn’t hurt him.

Vince took a deep breath, sighed, and rubbed his hands over his face, turning his attention back to Gina Kemmer’s photographs.

He found the first one of Marissa dated 1971. Even as a young teenager she had been striking with her shining dark eyes and her dark hair falling around her shoulders in waves. She was dressed like a hippy in bell-bottom pants with a peace sign hanging around her neck and a leather headband across her forehead. Gina was in a similar getup. The back of the photo read—in schoolgirl handwriting—Missy and Me, Sept. 1971.

They had grown up together. Best friends. Like sisters. School. Boyfriends. Holidays. Trips.

So why the big lie? Why say they only met here in Oak Knoll in 1982? Who would have cared where they had come from? Who would have cared how long they had known each other?

And why had Melissa Fabriano changed her name? Had she just wanted to reinvent herself? Had she been running from someone in LA? Maybe her family hadn’t been as idyllic as the middle-class Kemmers of Reseda.

Maybe Haley’s father had been abusive. Maybe there was no blackmail scheme. Maybe the abusive father of her child had finally found her and put an end to her perfect secret life in perfect Oak Knoll.

Then why wouldn’t Gina have given up his name? She would have been in danger from him too. Why wouldn’t she just give him up?

The door opened and Mendez came into the room with a bag from Carnegie West Deli.

“If there’s a hot pastrami on rye in that bag, I’ll kiss you full on the mouth.”

“No tongue,” Mendez said. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

He set the bag on another table and started dragging sandwiches out of it.

“Finding anything?” he asked, nodding at the photographs.