list because she’d based it on the pictures she had. Pictures he hardly appeared in. Since she assumed the unsub had met Glover in church, and saw Catherine there regularly, she focused on men who’d appeared frequently in the pictures, who were part of the congregation’s community. It never occurred to her that pictures with specific people could be missing.
She searched for him on social media, found his profile on Facebook. She scrolled through the posts. He was divorced, no children. He’d taken several selfies with women considerably younger than him.
She dialed Tatum.
“Hey.” He sounded exhausted.
She suddenly recalled the online trap Tatum had set for the killer the day before. “Any news with the virus thing?” she asked.
“It’s not a virus—it’s a Trojan horse.” He yawned when he said horse, so it sounded like hooooorse. “No news. He hasn’t logged off, but he didn’t open the file either. No idea why. I tried asking him if he found what he was looking for in the file this morning. Still no response.”
“Are you at the station?”
“Yeah, I slept here. We did a sleepover party. Agent Valentine has pink PJs.”
“Really?”
“No. But I find it amusing that you thought it’s remotely possible.”
“Tatum, do you have the phone number of the photographer we talked to?”
“I think so. Finch, right? Hang on . . . okay, I sent it to you. Why?”
“I think there are some missing photos,” Zoe answered vaguely, not sure if her hunch was strong enough to go into detail. “I’ll keep you posted.”
“Okay. I think there’s a status meeting at—”
She hung up before he could give her the details. Self-preservation. Then she dialed Finch. It took him a long time to answer.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Finch, this is Zoe Bentley. We met a few days—”
“I remember. How can I help you?”
“It’s about Catherine Lamb and Allen Swenson.”
The long pause told her she’d gotten it right. She smiled grimly.
“What about them?” Finch finally asked.
“There was a photograph of both of them missing in the files you gave us. A photograph you used for the memorial board.”
“That must have been a mistake. Maybe I missed a folder.”
“From what I could see, you missed more than just a folder. There are missing photos throughout the last two years. Have you removed some of the photos, Mr. Finch?”
“Like I said, it was probably a mistake. I’ll look through the photos on Monday morning, send you the missing files.”
If he had a reason to hide them, he might delete them by then. “What if we send a patrol officer to your studio now? With a search warrant? Would you be able to find the photos faster?”
“There’s no need for that.”
“A woman has been murdered, Finch. If you’re withholding evidence—”
“You can’t tell him that I talked to you,” Finch blurted.
“Tell who?”
“Allen.”
“Allen Swenson?”
“Yeah. He came into my studio on Tuesday and told me to delete all photos of him from the past two years.”
Tuesday. That was the day they’d met Swenson at the church. He’d seen them looking at the memorial board and had probably gone straight after to talk to Finch and get rid of something he didn’t want them to know. “Did he tell you why?”
“He said I invaded his privacy. Threatened he’d sue me if I didn’t do it.”
“Did you delete the photos?”
“I removed them from the folders. But I have a backup.”
“We need those photos right now.”
“I can get to my studio in about twenty minutes and send them to you.”
“Send them to my email.” She gave him her email address. “Be quick about it.”
The wait was interminable. She kept refreshing her email box, checking if he sent them yet. Just as she was about to call him again, she got the email. She scrolled through them.
One photo sometimes really was worth a thousand words, and there were thirty-two of them. Some were innocuous. But those weren’t the ones Swenson was worried about. Finch had a knack for catching unique moments. And seventeen of those photos told a story.
Allen and Catherine talking with each other in the church, their bodies a bit too close for casual acquaintanceship. A few images of them kissing in a dark corner. Then another one, with Allen placing his hand on Catherine’s waist, with her trying to move it away or hold it there. And then a few more pictures of them talking, Catherine distraught, Allen calm. A picture of Catherine in tears, with Allen staring at her stonily. And then another picture of a kiss. An aggressive kiss, Allen gripping Catherine,