Finally, they moved upstairs. Kerri took the mother-in-law’s space while Falco checked the nursery.

Jacqueline Rollins had liked pink. Most of the clothes hanging in her closet were either pink or had pink somewhere in the fabric. She preferred shoes with practical flat heels. She owned only two handbags: a white one and a brown one. At the time of her death, she had been using the white one.

Her wallet contained a photo of her and Sela—the first one they’d found of the two together. Some cash but no credit cards. An insurance card and a state ID card. No driver’s license.

Kerri checked every shelf and drawer once again. Between the mattress and box springs and beneath the bed. She moved to the first of the two bedside tables. Nothing in the drawers beyond the usual tissues, flashlight, and typical personal items. She checked the bottoms of drawers and beneath the table itself just as she had last time.

So far nothing had been overlooked in previous searches, certainly not a handgun. She moved on to the table on the other side of the bed.

Nothing helpful in the drawers.

She shifted the lamp and clock radio from the top and settled both on the floor, then removed the drawers. Nothing under either.

She peered into the empty cavities of the table. When she would have called it done, she looked up again. Something caught her attention. A notebook or book was taped to the underside of the tabletop. How had she missed that last time?

Kerri reached inside and pulled it out. Not a book. A small scrapbook or mini-album. Maybe six inches by ten.

She sat down cross-legged on the floor and opened it.

The first pages showed a young woman in various places. One appeared to be an apartment; others were outside. A yard. Trees. Nothing unusual. Kerri studied the woman’s face. The younger woman appeared to be Sela’s mother at what looked like twenty or twenty-five years of age. She frowned, looked more closely. Maybe not. The features weren’t right somehow.

Kerri moved to the next page in the mini-album. Some of the areas where shots were taken looked vaguely familiar. Judging by the cars in one photo, the time frame would have been in the late seventies, maybe early eighties. If she could see a license plate—

“Devlin!”

Clutching the album, Kerri got to her feet and went in search of her partner. “Where are you?”

“The kid’s room.”

Nursery. She headed in that direction. The smell of death was stronger here. The crimson stains on the carpet reminded anyone who looked that a life-and-death struggle had played out in that spot, culminating in the death of Jacqueline Rollins.

“What’d you find?”

Standing at the crib, he gestured inside it. “Did you do this?”

Kerri moved to his side and peered at the white bedding with its pink unicorns. The quilt had been drawn back and the stuffed unicorn, along with the pillow, pushed out of place. She shook her head. “I looked each time we walked through the scene, but I didn’t touch anything. I didn’t see any reason to.”

“Me either,” Falco confirmed. “So unless one of the other cops did this after we left, someone else has been in the house.”

“You check with the security company, and I’ll call Officer Matthews. She was here when the house was locked up that night.” Beyond the second pass by the crime scene investigators—and Matthews would have been with them—no one else had been in the house except her and Falco. Well, and Gibbons, but Kerri had been with her at the time.

Matthews answered on the first ring. Her response to Kerri’s question was exactly what she had expected. Nothing in the crib had been disturbed. The struggle had taken place on the other side of the room, and the crib had appeared untouched. No reason to go there.

In truth, no one wanted to poke around in the crib, knowing that the pregnant mother was missing.

Falco walked back in the room. “Someone was in the house Sunday night. If it wasn’t Tanya or you, then we need to find out if one of the parents was here, because it damned sure wasn’t me.”

As far as anyone knew, the only other person who had the code and wasn’t confirmed dead was Sela Abbott.

Except, in view of Marcella Gibbons’s little fling, maybe Neal Ramsey.

“We need the crime scene folks to come dust this room and the security pads for prints.” Kerri’s heart started to pound. “Damn it. We need to know what was hidden under this pillow and comforter.” She wanted to kick herself for not looking. She’d done this long enough to know better than to ignore the most innocent of situations.

Falco made the call. Kerri backed away from the crib for fear of accidently depositing some trace evidence.

“They’ll be here in half an hour,” her partner announced.

Kerri nodded. “Good.”

“What’ve you got there?”

Kerri held up the mini-album she’d completely forgotten she was clutching. “I found this stashed beneath the bedside table in the mother’s room. I can’t believe I missed it before, but apparently I did.”

Falco took the album and flipped through the pages.

“I think that’s Jacqueline when she was maybe in her twenties. She looks a lot different, but that was a long time ago.” Kerri shrugged. “There’s not enough recognizable background in the photos for me to determine where she is.”

Falco studied photo after photo. “She’s here.”

Kerri leaned toward him and looked at the photo that had stopped him. “How can you be sure?”

“You see that shop right there?”

“I do, but I don’t recognize it.”

“That’s over in Irondale. It was a pharmacy. Had a soda fountain where you could get ice cream cones.”

“You can’t really see the name of the place. It’s behind her.”

“I grew up in that area. I know this place.”

“I thought you grew up in Montgomery.”

He shook his head. “We didn’t move there until high school.” He tapped the photo. “This is Irondale.”

“So the mother lived here first.” Her gaze connected with Falco’s. “Maybe that’s why Janelle came to Birmingham. There could have been family friends. Distant relatives.”

“It would sure as hell help if we could find someone who remembers Janelle coming back.”

If only, Kerri mused.

Falco flipped a few more pages. He stopped and tapped another photo. “That’s the missing wife.”

Kerri studied the photo. He was right. She hadn’t gotten that far before he’d called her to the nursery. “This must be her older sister, Janelle, and the mother, I think.” It was the first photo of the three women together they had found. Again, the mother looked so different it was difficult to say for sure. Time and poor health changed people.

When Falco turned to the next page, something fell to the floor. Kerri bent down and picked up a small envelope. The kind purchased in a set with matching stationery. She turned it over. The envelope was addressed to Jacqueline Rollins in San Diego. Postmarked in Birmingham. Janelle had been the sender. The return address was the apartment complex where she’d lived.

Kerri opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. It was a single page folded in half. In the fold was a small photograph of Janelle and a man who appeared a few years older than her. Instinct nudged Kerri, but it was difficult to say for sure if she’d ever seen him. He wasn’t looking directly into the camera lens. “Does he look familiar to you?”

Falco shook his head. “You?”

“A little. I’ve seen him, I think.” Recognition sucker punched her. “Holy shit, I think this is Theo Thompson.”

Falco took the photo from her.

“Bear in mind,” she reminded him, “this was—what—at least fifteen years ago? And that’s a pretty small photo with him looking away from the camera.” She shrugged. “Maybe someone said something to him.” Or he was uncomfortable having his photograph taken with a woman who wasn’t his wife.

Son of a bitch. Sela Abbott had been right when she’d told Bellemont this was about her sister and Theo Thompson.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “I think you might be right.”

Kerri turned her attention to the letter.

Momma & Sela,

He is the one! We’re still keeping the news a secret from his father—he worries he won’t approve. Whether he does or not we’re getting married. Maybe we’ll come to San Diego so the two of you can be a part of the celebration!

Love,

J

Fire lit in Kerri’s belly. “We need to confirm this is him.” She tucked the photo into her jacket pocket. “This might just go a long way in gaining a little cooperation from Thompson.”

He’d sure as hell evaded their every attempt to interview him so far.

“Since Bellemont has fessed up about knowing the older sister, maybe he can confirm what we suspect.” Falco shrugged. “It would definitely help if the guy was looking at the camera.”

“It’s him.” But they had to be sure. “We can start with Bellemont,” Kerri agreed, “assuming we can catch him.”

Her cell vibrated with an incoming text, and Kerri checked the screen. Amelia. Kerri couldn’t decide if she was relieved or pissed off at hearing from her.