CHAPTER FOUR: THE REASON FOR THE CAMERA
The police took initial statements on the sidewalk.
An officer asked whether I had video of the alley before my camera was destroyed.
I explained that it recorded only when motion crossed the gate line and stored clips locally for a limited period.
I had installed it after two bicycles were stolen from our driveway.
I showed the officer the broken mount and the photographs of Vera holding the spade.
He wrote down her name and address.
Vera did not deny breaking the camera.
She told him she would replace it and accept responsibility.
When he asked why, she looked at Graham and said she would answer after speaking with counsel.
That was a different woman from the one who had shouted at me in my yard.
The police asked the volunteers to leave their contact information before going home.
Several had no idea which organization had recruited them.
Dolores said a flyer had come through her senior center.
Owen said a teacher had recommended the experience as volunteer hours.
One man believed he was attending training for a neighborhood watch program.
The explanations did not match.
Tessa was packing materials into the minibus when I asked about the woman in the red scarf.
She stopped moving.
‘I don’t know,’ she said too quickly.
A crumpled sheet slid out of her clipboard and landed near my shoes.
The sheet showed a plan of the schoolhouse.
A blue line marked a route through the first floor.
A red line ended at a basement door.
Beside the red line someone had written the initials M.
F.
I passed the sheet back to Tessa without photographing it.
‘If that route mattered, please give it to the firefighters,’ I said.
She swallowed and walked toward the captain.
I went home before noon.
Jonah had made scrambled eggs for Lily, who was asking why the police had come to our street.
We told her that people had been practicing something dangerous in the old school and that the adults were sorting it out.
We did not tell her that a man had nearly suffocated within fifty yards of her bedroom.
That afternoon a replacement camera installer inspected the ruined wiring.
He said someone had removed the memory card before smashing the shell.
I looked again at the photographs on my phone.
Vera had struck the casing hard enough to crack its lens, but I could see a neat empty slot underneath.
She had not merely wanted the camera turned away.
She had wanted the stored footage.
I called the officer handling the report and told him what the installer had found.
Then I walked across the street and knocked on Vera’s door.
She opened it with the chain still fastened.
I asked where my memory card was.
She looked over her shoulder before answering.
‘Inside,’ she whispered.
‘Who else is there?’ I asked.
Vera closed the door without replying.
