It wasn't as if Lilly had died with the stamp J.K. embedded into her skull.

It wasn't as if the man didn't show grief for his daughter's death.

It wasn't as if there was irrefutable proof that he was guilty.

But Keith could see guilt written all over Jake Kane�s face like a signature on a memo.

Sloppy. Obvious.

And unfortunately, illegible.

Jake had done something. He knew that much.

Aside from sleep with his wife.

But he didn�t think about that.

It wasn�t about Lianne. It was about Jake and Celeste and most of all, it was about Lilly.

He needed to know who killed her.

He needed to prove that he hadn�t been incompetent.

But it was mostly the former. For his daughter�s sake.

Keith looked at the photos of the dead debutante for the thousand time, looking for the swirling J.K. in her wounds, in her blood, in her eyes.

There was never anything there.

But he knew there had to be something.

So he kept looking.

He looked until his eyes burned and his head pounded and his dog whined for him to get to bed.

He put the picture away.

He didn�t stop looking.