The officer looked up at me, his face grim.

“The account holder is listed as Patricia Vance,” he said.

My mother-in-law.

I looked at Daniel.

His eyes darted toward the hallway, as if he were looking for an exit.

A single bead of sweat rolled down his temple and sank into his collar.

“She has nothing to do with this,” Daniel muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Your mother’s house is at 1412 Oakcrest Drive, isn’t it, Daniel?” I asked.

He did not answer.

He stared down at his own shoes, his hands trembling at his sides.

“It is,” General Hayes said, answering for him. “My office verified her address this morning.”

The officer with the tablet tapped the screen again, opening a new window of data.

“There is more, General,” the officer said.

“Go on,” Hayes commanded.

“The metadata from the anonymous tip contains a unique device identifier,” the officer explained.

He zoomed in on a long string of alphanumeric characters.

“This MAC address matches a laptop that was connected to your home network last weekend,” he said, looking at me.

I remembered last Sunday.