Dance pulled herself away from the archives and walked carefully through the place. What she was looking for, she didn’t know.

Then she noted something out of the ordinary.

She stepped to a bookshelf, containing a number of binders and manila folders of legal and other official documents like tax bills and boxes of cassettes and reel-to-reel tapes, including some labeled “Master Tapes.”

Dance was studying this portion of the trailer carefully when she happened to pass the window where Tabatha had said she’d seen the intruder that morning. Dance blinked in surprise as she found herself staring eye-to-eye at a very unhappy P. K. Madigan, a foot away on the other side of the glass.

His expression was: Come on out here to the woodshed.

But she summoned him first, calling loudly, “I’ve found something.”

He grimaced and hesitated, then reluctantly joined her.

“Actually I’ve found something missing.”

He looked around. “Body language of the trailer tell you that?”

Madigan was being snide. But Dance said, “You could put it that way. People have patterns in their gestures and speech and expressions. They also have patterns in their living spaces. Bobby’s a highly organized person. People who are organized don’t happen to be that way accidentally. It’s a psychological drive. Look at those shelves.” She pointed.

“They’re messy but so? I got a teenage boy.”

“None of the others are. And your Crime Scene Unit marked where they’d taken things. Somebody else went through those boxes. Probably the intruder. It’s near the window where Tabatha saw somebody.”

“Why do you say something’s missing?”

“I’m not sure it’s missing. I’m making the deduction that if only those shelves were disturbed, the intruder was looking for something and he found it so he stopped.”

Madigan reluctantly walked over to the shelves and, pulling on latex gloves, poked through the tapes, the papers, the pictures, the tchotchkes. He said, “Some of these snaps of Kayleigh, they’re not souvenirs. They’re personal.”

That was one thing Dance hadn’t noticed.

Madigan continued, “The sort of thing a son-of-a-bitch stalker’d want for a souvenir.”

“That could be it, yes.”

Madigan ran a finger over the shelf and examined it. The coat of dust was thick. Bobby was organized but not particularly concerned about cleaning. “Cement plant right up the road here. Looks like dust from there. I know it. We got a conviction in this trailer park ’cause of it, placing the perp here. That could be helpful.” A cool glance her way. “You find anything else?”

“No.”

Without a word he left the trailer, Dance after him. He called to Harutyun, “You guys find anything? Witnesses?”

“Nothing.”

Stanning shook her head too.

“Where’s Lopez?”

“Just finishing up at the convention center.”

Madigan pulled a phone off his thick shiny belt and placed a call. He stepped away from the others and had a brief conversation. Dance couldn’t hear what was said. His eyes swiveled around the yard as he spoke, absently examining the deceased’s residence. Dance was included in his gaze.