Gagnon watches as the blurred, pixelated image turns crisp and sharp. Condon points to the man on the screen; his face is now clearly visible. “Hey, that looks like—”

“That’s exactly who it is,” says Gagnon.

“Cole freaking Wright? Who’s the girl? Looks like a model.”

“Her name was Suzanne. She was a Patriots cheerleader.”

In the sharpened image, Suzanne Bonanno’s face is almost as clear as it was in Felicia’s video. Her makeup is perfect, and her hair is blown out and flowing. She’s wearing a sleeveless V-neck top and jeans. Her left hand is resting on a pile of merchandise on the checkout counter. “Zoom in there,” says Gagnon, pointing to Suzanne’s right wrist.

Condon moves two fingers across a trackpad. The image enlarges.

And there it is. The tennis bracelet.

“Save that, please,” says Gagnon.

Condon clicks a screenshot.

“Now move left.” Condon crawls the image slowly until Cole Wright’s lower arms are visible. He’s wearing a long-sleeved button-down shirt.

“I want to see if he’s wearing a wristwatch,” says Gagnon.

Condon zooms in even tighter. “Hard to tell,” she says. “Those cuffs look pretty crisp and new. If there’s a watch underneath, the contour doesn’t show. There might be something under there, might not.”

“Okay,” says Gagnon. “Move down to the checkout counter.”

Condon shifts back to the merchandise.

“Can you get that any clearer?” says Gagnon.

“I’m just about at the limit. What are we trying to see?”

Gagnon points to a soft package Suzanne’s fingers are resting on.

“Towels?” asks Condon, squinting at the screen.

“I hope not,” says Gagnon.

“Give me a sec.” Condon places a digital grid over the package, then rotates the image to reveal a black label with gold script. “I can’t make it out perfectly, but I see an R and an S and something like bedsheets?” She looks up. “Does that help?”

Gagnon consults her notes from her call with Jan McHenry from Icon Labs in Boston. Regal Soft Touch Bedsheets.

“Is that anything?” Beth asks.

Gagnon nods. “It’s everything.”

Suzanne Bonanno was buying her burial shroud.

CHAPTER
83

Cranston, Rhode Island

I’m parked on a narrow residential street about ten minutes from Providence. The neighborhood is made up of single-family homes with neat fenced-in yards, many containing shrines to the Virgin Mary, Saint Joseph, and a lot of other Catholic saints I don’t recognize.

Before I get out of the car, I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. You can do this, Brea.