Monday — 7:42 p.m.
Edge's POV
“Tell me that photograph is being processed for fingerprints.”
Collins nodded from the monitor.
“Along with everything else recovered from the house.”
I stood at the head of the Church table, struggling to keep my temper under control.
My daughter's photograph.
Taken outside Dr. Snyder's Pediatrics before she left for Mexico.
Left on a kitchen counter with a message declaring she belonged to somebody.
Somebody who wasn't Blaze.
Somebody who'd apparently decided murder was an acceptable way to demonstrate affection.
“Any sign of Chet?” I demanded.
“Not yet. Agents are examining the property and checking nearby surveillance.”
True leaned forward.
“What about the Prius?”
“Registration is fraudulent. We're running the VIN and examining the vehicle.”
