If Jaid had bothered to picture the woman’s residence, her mental image would have closely resembled the reality. Adam had called ahead to make sure the woman would be home. But he’d given her no reason for their visit over the phone, and Sorenson’s expression was worried when she pulled open the door and allowed them inside. “Agents. Mr. Raiker.” She searched their faces carefully. “Is there . . . have you caught the man who killed Byron?” “Not yet.” They stood in a small vestibule papered in muted, soothing colors. Adam reached inside his coat to take out two sheets of paper, tri-folded. “We’d like you to take a look at these copies of photos and see if either of them match the man who bumped into you that night when you spilled your purse.” She studied the sheets he handed her showing Joseph Bailey and Scott Lambert. Her eyes lit with recognition. “Yes, that’s him right there.” She brought one picture closer to study it more carefully. “He seemed like such a nice young man.”
