“I remember something from the notes that I took at our interviews. Didn’t you get drunk while you were at your sister’s school and passed out?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay.”

“Clare used to like to take pictures. She always had this camera with her. I clicked through them and saw an image in mid-November of a guy who looked like David.”

“David? Did he live in the area about that time?”

“He was in college with Brit, which is an hour’s drive away. He said his family is from California, so he must have been visiting friends in the area over the Thanksgiving holiday.” She handed me the camera.

I clicked through the images. “You know that for a fact?”

“A theory.”

“Has David ever indicated that he saw Clare or you before her death?”

“He’s never said anything to me.”

I studied the rounded face of a man with dark hair. He was looking away from the camera, and the image was slightly out of focus, as if he were intentionally turning away as Clare clicked. I wanted to be excited but had been disappointed too many times. “This is all you have?”

“David met Brit at the hospital right after my accident. I’m in surgery, and he just happened to show up.”

“Random connections happen.”

Her eyes still turned a vivid shade of blue when she was angry. She ran long fingers over her shorn hair. “You once said that when facts appear connected, they generally are.”

“You’re correct. But coincidences do happen.” I walked to the kitchen counter and carefully set down my cup. “This picture is not enough for a warrant.”

She moved toward me, standing within a couple of feet. “I followed him last night.”

“What?”

“I drove to Brit’s house, thinking he’d be there. He was, so I followed him home because I wanted to see where he lived. On the way back downtown, he circled through my parking lot before heading home.”

“And?”

“Nothing. He drove home to his place in Church Hill. There’s a bar down the block from his townhome, and I could swear I was there. And his residence is only minutes from where I had my car accident.”

The flukes were piling up. “It’s not smart to follow him.”

“Maybe, but this is the first lead I’ve had in thirteen years.”

“Why did Jo-Jo give you the camera now?”

“She’s pregnant. And she has been thinking about Clare a lot. She knew Clare was pregnant.”

“She never told me that.” I’d never bought Jo-Jo’s innocent look and vague answers, but sensing and proving were two different beasts. “Was that omission also because of her special bond with Clare, too?”

“They were best friends,” she said.

“She’s also married to a former con who’s done very well for himself recently.”

“What’s that mean?”