I took it down and folded it in a paper shopping bag.
The theater could have it back.
I didn’t want another frightened person mistaking it for a confession.
At the bottom of the hook I noticed a small scrap of orange tape that hadn’t been there before.
I photographed it without touching it.
Then I called Detective Ward.
The orange tape led nowhere at first.
A forensic technician collected it in a paper envelope and found fibers from an ordinary packing label.
There was no fingerprint, no useful trace of adhesive residue, and no reason to conclude it had been placed by Derek.
Detective Ward told me the disappointing result herself.
“Sometimes a scrap of tape is just a scrap of tape,” she said.
I appreciated the warning because I was beginning to see danger in every object around me.
That afternoon, a delivery driver stopped outside Gloria’s house and carried three boxes to her porch.
I watched him leave from my office window, then felt ashamed that I was watching at all.
Being the subject of an accusation had made me curious about another person’s movements in a way I had never been before.
I shut the blinds and finished cleaning a cassette for the Bellhaven Historical Society.
The speaker on the tape was a woman named Edith Marsh, recalling how the river flooded in 1987.
Her voice had been damaged by heat, leaving the consonants muffled and the high frequencies brittle.
For three hours, I worked carefully and did not think about Gloria.
Then someone knocked on my door.
I expected a delivery and opened it without checking the window.
Derek stood on the porch holding a folder and wearing a smile that made me wish I had locked the door.
“We need to clear the air,” he said.
“You can speak from there.”
“My mother had a breakdown.
You know how she gets.”
“I know she hit me.”
He glanced past my shoulder.
“You wouldn’t press charges against an old woman, would you?”
“That’s not something I’m discussing with you.”
He lifted the folder.
“I’m bringing a statement.
She says she was confused, and you say the whole thing was a misunderstanding.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You could.”
His smile stayed fixed.
“People are asking questions about the recordings on your computer.
It would be a shame if Tess started getting dragged into it.”
The mention of my daughter changed the conversation.
“Do not use her name as leverage.”
