Page 92 of Lorenzo

Childhood pictures. School portraits. A teenager in a graduation gown. A young woman standing between Elaine and a man who must have been her late husband, Daniel.

The resemblance to Genevieve is unmistakable.

Lorenzo stops near the photographs.

Elaine notices and says, “She always hated pictures.”

That would explain the lack of them online.

“Not a fan of social media?” I ask.

Elaine looks at me. “No, she never was interested in that.” She gestures toward the sofa. “Sit.”

Lorenzo and I take the sofa. Elaine sits across from us in an armchair, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

I take out my notebook but do not open it yet.

“When did you last see Rachel?”

“A long time ago.”

“How long?”

“More than a year.”

“Have you spoken to her since then?”

Elaine hesitates. “A few months ago.”

“Do you know how long?”

“Three, maybe four months.”

“What did she want?”

“Now, how would that be any of your business?”

“Because your daughter may be connected to a murder,” I say. “Anything she asked for or talked about could matter.”

Elaine’s gaze shifts briefly to Lorenzo.

He says nothing.

I keep my attention on her. “Did she want money? Documents? An address?”

Her fingers tighten together.

“She asked about her adoption papers.”

“Like court documents and medical information?” I ask.

“Yeah, things like that. We didn't have much information about her birth.”

“Did she say why?”

“She said she wanted to know more about where she came from.”

“Had she ever shown interest before?”