Keller said, “Just so we’re clear, whatever we discuss is off the record.”

Judy frowned but gave a resigned nod. Her husband still hadn’t said anything. They struck Keller as one of those couples where the husband needed to be the strong, silent type.

“You sent an investigator to Mexico?” Keller asked.

“We stuck him on the first plane out after we heard. We’re making a sequel to the documentary. And obviously, what happened is relevant to the story.”

“What’s the sequel about?” Keller asked.

“Today?” Ira Adler said, speaking for the first time. He had a husky, breathy voice, friendly, nonthreatening. “We started off focusing on Danny’s appeal,” Ira said. “There were some famous appellate lawyers working the case, and we had lots of public support.”

Judy spoke now. “But it turns out famous appellate lawyers”—she put the word in air quotes—“are about as interesting as Nebraska. Do you know the state’s official slogan?”

Keller shook her head.

“I swear I’m not making this up.” Judy raised her hand like she was taking an oath. “Nebraska’s slogan is ‘Honestly, it’s not for everyone.’” She coughed out a laugh, then said, “I’ve spent months there and they aren’t lying. We’re going back tonight.”

Keller suppressed a grin.

“Anyway,” Judy continued, “our big climax—the Supreme Court’s decision—went to shit when those nine idiots denied Danny’s appeal, so we almost scrapped the whole project.”

“But then we decided to focus on the girl,” Ira said. They had the rhythm of a couple who had been married a long time.

“You mean Charlotte?” Keller said.

“Right,” Judy continued. “I mean, one of the criticisms we got over ‘A Violent Nature’—and it wasn’t totally unfair—was that Charlotte seemed to get lost in it all. We were so focused on that awful interrogation of Danny Pine and the Unknown Partygoer and Bobby Ray Hayes that we never really gave the victim her due.”

“So what does the accident in Mexico have to do with Charlotte?” Keller asked.

“Well, what if it wasn’t an accident?” Judy said, holding Keller’s gaze.

Keller felt a flutter in her chest. Always trust your gut. “The Mexican authorities haven’t said anything about foul play,” Keller said.

Judy said, “Maybe our guy knows how to ask a little more persuasively.”

“By paying someone off,” Keller replied.

Judy didn’t flinch. “I wouldn’t call it that. And I can assure you, we broke no Mexican laws.” She snapped her fingers while simultaneously pointing at her oversize handbag, which was just out of reach. Ira passed her the bag, and Judy fished out a tablet. “But things work differently down there.” Judy swiped at the tablet. “They’re more free with investigative materials.…”

“You have their investigation file?” Keller asked. This was important because Keller had received diddly-squat from the Mexican authorities. The local cops in Tulum had snubbed the FBI’s Mexico legal attaché, and the consular officer had been astonishingly unhelpful.

“If you can call it that,” Judy said. “They’re just a small-town force. I doubt they get training about much of anything, let alone how to manage a crime scene or investigate homicide.”

Homicide.

“So what’s in the file?”

“Photos of the scene—they at least did that much.”

Keller swallowed. The Adlers had postmortem photographs of the Pine family. Keller didn’t want to look at them, but she had to. She eyed the tablet and nodded for Judy to pull them up.

A few swipes later and Keller’s breath was stripped from her lungs. Mrs. Pine, even more beautiful than in the photos Keller had seen, was lying on the couch, a book resting on her chest. She looked like she was taking a nap.

“I don’t see any signs of foul play,” Keller said. “It looks consistent with a gas leak.”

“Look again,” Judy said.

Keller moved her face closer to the tablet, studying the screen. Olivia Pine’s face was peaceful. Her long legs—she was a runner, by the looks of them—stretched out on the sofa. There was no blood or obvious signs of trauma. Next to the sofa was an end table. On it, a lamp and coaster. Nothing seemed disturbed or as if there’d been a struggle.

Keller could feel Judy staring at her, waiting for her to see. Then she did.

“The book,” Keller said, touching the novel on Olivia Pine’s chest with her finger. “It’s upside down.”

Judy gave an exaggerated nod.

Keller thought it over. If Olivia Pine had passed out from the gas while she was reading, the book would have fallen in place. It wouldn’t be upside down.

“It’s staged,” Keller said.

More nodding from Judy.

“That doesn’t mean she was murdered,” Keller said. “The cops could’ve bungled the scene and put the book back on her chest to cover themselves.”

Judy didn’t respond. Instead she reached for the tablet, swiped, and handed it back to Keller.

Keller’s heart sank at the sight of the girl, Margaret. Matt called her Maggie. She was on her stomach on top of the bed.

This time Judy didn’t wait for Keller to see it. She pointed her index finger at the screen. On Maggie’s wrists there were tiny bruises, like fingerprints, as if she’d been held down.

“What about the father and little boy?” Keller asked.

“No signs of struggle with the boy. But the father, his body was found outside on the back porch. I’ve gotta warn you,” Judy said, swiping the tablet, “the photos aren’t for the faint of heart.”

Keller tried not to gasp. Evan Pine was little more than a bloody stump. An image fit for a horror movie. “What the hell…”

“Wild dogs, apparently,” Ira Adler chimed in.

Dear God. Keller needed to warn Matt in case the Mexicans required him to personally ID the bodies. Keller looked away from the image, thinking. That Evan Pine was outside supported the Adlers’ foul play theory. He confronted someone trying to get in from the back of the property, they killed him, and the dogs got to the body. The intruder then subdued the rest of the family and cut the gas line. At the same time, Evan could’ve realized there was a gas leak and stumbled outside before succumbing to the toxic air. But there was an alternative theory. Keller’s mind jumped back to the suicide searches on the family’s computer. Was this a botched suicide? Or worse, a murder-suicide? She kept those thoughts to herself.

“I’m going to need copies of the photos,” Keller said.

“Our lawyer says we don’t have to give them to you, not without a warrant anyway,” Judy said.

Keller let her stare show her displeasure.

“But maybe we can help one another,” Judy said.

“How so?” Keller asked, after a long moment.

“Our investigator found something the local cops overlooked.” Judy reached into her handbag again. She retrieved an overnight delivery envelope. Slipping her hand inside the cardboard sleeve, she carefully removed a small Ziploc bag.

“What’s that?” Keller asked. Inside the bag was a leaf or part of a plant.

“The police let our guy view the crime scene.”

Keller opened her mouth to say something, to castigate them for potentially contaminating the scene, but Judy waved her quiet.

“I know, I know,” Judy said. She was a hand talker. “But they’d already closed the case, designated the deaths accidental.”

“What did he find?” Keller asked, deciding a lecture on crime scene protocol wouldn’t get her anywhere. And she wanted to know what was in the bag sitting on her desk.

“The scene was immaculate,” Judy said. “Wiped down from top to bottom, the kitchen and bathroom trash cans all empty, even though there was nothing in the cans outside.”

It was suspicious. Unusual. But there were plausible explanations. “Maybe the local police let the maid clean the place,” Keller said. “Or maybe the Pines cleaned up before…”

Judy offered a resigned nod. “The Tulum cops certainly didn’t think there was anything to it. But our investigator said it had the earmarks of a professional. And when he examined the scene outside—where they found Evan Pine’s body—he found this.” Judy handed Keller the plastic bag. “The patio of the rental is surrounded by a tall fence, which is why no one saw the body sooner. The gate was unlatched. Our investigator spotted this near the gate.”

Holding the bag at eye level with her thumb and index finger, Keller saw it. A drop of red, about a millimeter in diameter, staining the green leaf.

“Couldn’t it just be Evan Pine’s blood?” Keller said.

“Maybe. But he was pretty far away from the gate and the plant was at shoulder height, higher than you’d expect if it was cross-contamination from the dogs tearing out of there. But that’s what we hoped you could tell us.”

Keller narrowed her eyes.

“You could run the DNA, see if you get any hits,” Judy continued.