“That’s why I told you to hold still,” she said as she watched what I was doing on the monitors. “Now move your hand in and point with your first two fingers toward where you hear my voice coming from. Better?”

“Better,” I said.

I was standing on the floor in the room, as if the photograph had come to life, three-dimensional and large. I looked around and did not actually see anything I hadn’t before when Vander had done the image enhancement. It was what this made me feel, and what I felt changed what I saw.

Walls were the color of putty, with faint discolorations that until now I had attributed to water damage, which might be expected in a basement or garage. But they seemed different now, more uniformly distributed, some so faint I could barely see them. Paper had once covered the putty paint on these walls. It had been removed but not replaced, as had the cornice box or drapery rod. Above a window covered with shut Venetian blinds were small holes where brackets once had been.

“This isn’t where it happened,” I said as my heart beat harder.

Lucy was silent.

“She was brought in here after the fact to be photographed. This is not where the killing and dismemberment took place.”

“What are you seeing?” she asked.

I moved my hand and walked closer to the virtual table. I pointed at the virtual walls, to show Lucy what I saw. “Where did he plug in the autopsy saw?” I said.

I could find but one electrical outlet, and it was at the base of a wall.

“And the drop cloth is from here, too?” I went on. “It doesn’t fit with everything else. No paint, no tools.” I kept looking around. “And look at the floor. The wood’s lighter at the border as if there once was a rug. Who puts rugs in workshops? Who has wallpaper and drapes? Where are the outlets for power tools?”

“What do you feel?” she asked.

“I feel this is a room in someone’s house where the furniture has been removed. Except there is some sort of table, which has been covered with something. Maybe a shower curtain. I don’t know. The room feels domestic.”

I reached out my hand and tried to touch the edge of the table cover, as if I could lift it and reveal what was underneath, and as I looked around, details became so clear to me, I wondered how I could have missed them before. Wiring was exposed in the ceiling directly above the table, as if a chandelier or other type of light fixture had once hung there.

“What about my color perception right now?” I asked.

“Should be the same.”

“Then there’s something else. These walls.” I touched them. “The color lightens in this direction. There’s an opening. Maybe a doorway, with light coming through it.”

“There’s no doorway in the photo,” Lucy reminded me. “You can only see what’s there.”