It was the excuse they had been waiting for.
And suddenly I remembered something I had dismissed that morning.
My husband had asked me what time I would be home.
Not casually.
Twice.
I had assumed he wanted to know because he was planning dinner with his mother. When I arrived, the kitchen looked normal except for the bowl on the table and the glass that would soon be lying in pieces on the floor.
Now I understood why he had needed to know when I would be there.
He needed to know when I would not be there.
My daughter was still in the hospital, and I wanted to be beside her. But the detective asked me to stay a little longer because another officer had found something in the family computer.
A document had been deleted.
It was not a school report or a shopping list.
It was a draft statement.
