“I estimate that girl’s age to be thirteen, perhaps fourteen, which, when you consult the United States Census, age differences between couples in a heterosexual relationship were reported to be an average of three years. Of course, the census has only just this year agreed to include data on LGBT couples, although it is sorely lacking in many significant ways, so an insightful study was done based on public Facebook data that determined LGBT couples are far more likely to be part of a more significant age gap relationship, with an average of seven years. It’s an interesting subject when you consider the biological imperative to produce offspring versus—” Larkin paused, recalibrated. “My apologies. I’ve gotten off topic.”

Camila said, after a considerable span of silence, “You’re not like any cop I’ve met before.” She glanced at the picture a final time and added, “I don’t know her, Detective.” She started to hand it back but paused, brought it closer, and asked, “Is she sleeping?”

Larkin gently plucked the bag from Camila’s hand. He held up, but didn’t extend, the photo he’d uncovered in Marco’s room. “Do you recognize this child.”

Camila considered the picture, and then her eyes darted to the book in Larkin’s hand. She asked, “Did—was that in Marco’s room? Where was it?”

“Mrs. Garcia.”

She bristled. “No, I don’t know them. Where did you find it?”

Larkin exchanged the photo for the copy of Hamlet. “Inside this book, under the mattress.”

“Under the—but I make that bed. How did I not notice it?”

“People don’t see what they don’t expect to find. You had no reason to suspect Marco hid anything from you.”

She looked distraught and chafed her arms.

“Was Marco interested in photography.”

“What?”

“Did he ever borrow your camera equipment.”

“No, no, no, Marco did not take those—those creepy pictures.”

“What about the art classes he assisted with at the Center,” Larkin asked next. “Were any of them photography.”

“Detective!”

“Mrs. Garcia, my asking as to Marco’s access to camera equipment isn’t meant to implicate him in any nefarious activities. It helps me construct a complete picture in my mind of the time and setting and people he interacted with. Investigating a murder isn’t like walking a straight line. It splinters, the way that glass cracks. Focusing on only one direction is what led us to where we are today.”

The color was high in Camila’s cheeks as she answered roughly, “My son assisted with lots of different classes. He painted murals with the kids, helped them build portfolios for college… and one weekend a month they took field trips to city parks to practice photography.”

CHAPTER SEVEN