She is 21, a sweet-tempered single mom on the mend from a broken relationship. She manages a women's clothing store and takes business courses and dreams of owning a restaurant.
And these are the final seconds of her life.
It is a winter evening in Tacoma, Wash. As police and her family will later reconstruct it, Keenya Cook undresses her baby daughter for a bath while food simmers on the kitchen stove.
Rain streaks the windows of the two-story house. Cook has recently split with the child's father and moved in with an aunt and teenage cousin, who are not home at the moment. But they'll be right back. It's a dreary Saturday in February, about 7 p.m.
Now Cook hears someone at the door.
She leaves 6-month-old Angeleah on a bed and walks downstairs. The front porch light is on, and if she peeks through a narrow pane of glass, she may see who's out there.
She is a quiet young woman with soft brown eyes. Later, her loved ones will wear T-shirts bearing her picture and a plaintive query: "Who did it?"
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