of plastic, a leather purse with water damage around the edges. And beneath the purse, what looked like a stack of papers tied with a faded blue ribbon.
The horror changed shape.
It did not get smaller. It just became more human.
You reached for the purse first, because it was closest and because your mind was already scrambling toward explanations it could survive. Maybe an old storage bag. Maybe estate things. Maybe he’d hidden keepsakes for some twisted sentimental reason. Maybe it was disgusting and terrible and still not criminal.
Your fingers trembled as you unzipped it.
Inside was a wallet.
Inside the wallet was an Arizona driver’s license.Generated image
The photo showed a woman in her late thirties, maybe early forties, with gentle eyes and dark hair pulled back from her face. Her name was Elena Morales.
You had never heard it before.
Your stomach dropped anyway.
