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Her breath was shaky. It was good. “Caitie was happy. They were happy together.” How had no one ever asked that question the way he had before? Not in a gossipy, scandalous way, but as if he genuinely cared. “I like this picture a lot,” she added, “even though it’s a couple of hours before she died.”

Again, Bailey waited for the judgment. Wes offered none.

“I hated this picture at first because Caitie didn’t know what was coming. But another way to look at it, she was really…happy. That’s what I want to think about. Not her last few moments.”

“That’s…” He measured his words, hesitating. “A great way to think of your sister.”

His compassion for victims’ families had been evident years ago, and it was now. Wes was part of a small fraction of investigators she’d worked with who seemed to really understand.

But her job right now wasn’t to be the victim’s family. It was to share facts with Wes. “Caitie went to a New Year’s Eve party with her friends and boyfriend. The party ended. Ryan and his brother Erick walked her back to her dorm. They last saw her in front of her building on 116th Street.”

“Both brothers?”

“They both went to Columbia. Caitie and I attended Barnard. Ryan and I were juniors. Caitie was a sophomore. Erick was a freshman.”

“Do you have something I can take notes on?” Wes asked.

Bailey retrieved a fresh legal pad and handed him a pen. He took a few shorthand notes, then looked up for her to continue.

“Ryan said good night to Caitie, then Erick and Ryan went their separate ways.”

“Do you know what time?” Wes asked, not looking up from his notes.

“Around one-thirty in the morning.”

He jotted another note.

“Ryan passed out in his dorm, and the next day, went about business as usual. Got a late lunch and played video games with friends. You have to remember, this was before everyone texted on cell phones.”

“In the era when we waited to make calls for the nights and weekends rate,” he said. “I remember.”

“No one was texting good night and good morning.”

“Right.”

Bailey rearranged the file folders and handed Wes the police reports. “Caitie was found strangled within fifteen minutes of her swiping her key card to enter the building. Her roommates didn’t think she made it to their dorm. She wasn’t sexually assaulted and still had her key card, ID, some cash, and a credit card in her bra.”

Wes tapped his pen, staring at the paper as she talked.

“The only thing missing was her watch,” Bailey added, “but no one could remember if she’d worn it all night long. Maybe she’d lost it. Maybe it broke. It was just some cheap thing that was more of a bracelet accessory than a timepiece.”

He tapped his pen one more time, held it in place to think, then glanced up. “Was Caitie the type to lose her watch and not notice?”

“Ha. Good question. No way. But it was a New Year’s Eve party in New York. She was Type-A in every way, but she was also just a kid in college.”

“Tell me more about her.”

“How do I describe Caitie?” Bailey hummed. “Let’s see. She wanted to be an economist. Does that tell you something?”

The corners of his mouth tipped up. “Yeah. I guess it does.”

“She was smart. Driven. The president of everything. Friends with everyone. You know the type? Perfect, but everyone loves them, so it’s okay.”

Wes reached for the police report folder. She gave him time to flip through the pages. His head cocked. “They interviewed Ryan several times.”

“They did,” Bailey confirmed.

“Did they think he did it? Or was there something he might know?”