“Good thing his profile is public,” Emma said, craning her neck to see. “We’re definitely not friends anymore.” The screen filled with hundreds of pictures of Garrett—scoring at soccer, shirtless and oiled up on a beach somewhere, lifting a glass to the camera at a fancy restaurant. In a few he stood by his sister, an arm wrapped protectively around her.

The most recent update read: RIP Nisha B. You’ll be missed, baby girl. Before that, though, most of his status updates were pretty banal, things like Anybody see The Voice tonight? CeeLo brought his parrot!!! or Only five more months before I never have to do a trig proof again. Sometimes he linked to soccer news or Saturday Night Live clips. It looked like he posted several times a day.

“Go to the night of the thirty-first,” Emma said, her hand on Ethan’s shoulder. He scrolled backward through the months, slowing when he hit September. Emma winced when she saw the phrase Garrett went from being “in a relationship” to “single,” updated on her birthday.

“Nothing interesting,” said Ethan. She leaned in and peered at the monitor. Then her eyes fell on Garrett’s last post before Sutton’s murder, late in the afternoon of the thirtieth.

Do you ever get tired of all the lies people tell?

Emma and Ethan exchanged glances. “That could be about Sutton and Thayer,” Emma said quietly. Ethan nodded. Then they saw a status update from September first, and shivered. It was updated at 2:38 A.M.

Eventually, people always get what’s coming to them.

I stared at the screen, my mind churning, willing the words to spark my memory to life, to take me back to that night so I could finally see how he had done it. But I couldn’t remember past that point when he grabbed my shoulder and said my name. Sutton. He’d said it like it was the dirtiest, most insulting word he’d ever heard.

“Garrett would probably have known about the snuff video,” Emma said softly, rereading the September first update. “It wouldn’t have been hard for him to steal it from Laurel’s computer sometime when he was at the house.”

Somewhere far away an ambulance siren wailed. The dogs up and down the street howled in response. Emma gazed out at the canyon, looming like a dark shadow, like a secret.

“I don’t get it,” Ethan said. “Stealing it and hoping you’d see it . . . that seems so complicated. Why wouldn’t he just Facebook you from Sutton’s account?”