Chapter 3: What the Little Girl Remembered
Detective Collins set her notepad on the edge of the bed.
"Lily," she said gently.
"I need you to tell me exactly what you heard.
Take your time."
Lily pulled the pink blanket up to her chin.
She looked at me first.
I nodded.
"I was sitting at the table," she said.
"Dad went to talk to the chef.
Uncle Michael came and sat next to me.
He thought I had my headphones in."
"Did you?" Detective Collins asked.
"No.
They were just around my neck.
The music wasn't on."
"What did he say?"
Lily's fingers tightened around the blanket edge.
"He called Grandma Evelyn on his phone.
He said — " She stopped.
Swallowed.
"He said, 'She's sitting right here.
It's going to work.
Just make sure the plates get switched before Daniel comes back.'"
The room was very quiet.
"He said her name?" Detective Collins asked.
"Grandma Evelyn's name?"
"Yes."
I sat down in the chair beside the bed because my legs stopped working correctly.
"Lily," I said.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She looked at me with her mother's eyes.
"I didn't understand what it meant yet.
I thought maybe it was a surprise.
Like a party thing." Her voice dropped.
"Then I couldn't breathe."
Detective Collins wrote without looking up.
"You said you were recording a message for your dad.
When did the recording start?"
"Before Dad left to find the chef.
I was nervous about the speech I had to give at school next week.
I wanted to practice saying it to Dad, but he was busy, so I just started recording it to send him later."
"And the recording kept running the whole time?"
"I forgot to stop it."
Detective Collins looked at me over Lily's head.
"We need that watch," she said.
I reached into my jacket pocket.
When the paramedics had undressed Lily for the IV, a nurse had handed me her belongings in a small plastic bag.
The smartwatch was inside, still clasped, the screen dark.
I placed it on the bed.
Detective Collins did not touch it.
She photographed it first.
Then she called for an evidence technician.
While we waited, Lily tugged my sleeve.
"Dad.
Is Uncle Michael going to be in trouble?"
"Yes," I said.
"He is."
She thought about that.
"He used to bring me those caramel candies.
The ones in the gold wrappers."
"I know."
"I don't want the candies anymore."
The technician arrived seven minutes later.
He photographed the watch a second time, bagged it, and left.
Detective Collins watched him go, then turned back to me.
"The audio on those devices compresses automatically," she said.
"If the recording ran long enough, the earlier portion may have been overwritten."
My chest tightened.
"How much would be left?"
"Depends on the watch model and the storage settings.
We'll know within a few hours." She paused.
"But Lily's testimony stands regardless.
She's a credible witness.
Eight years old, clear memory, no motive to fabricate."
"Evelyn's lawyers will say she's a traumatized child who misremembered."
"They will try." Detective Collins picked up her notepad.
"That's why we need the recording."
Lily had fallen asleep by the time the detective left the room.
Her hand was still loosely wrapped around my fingers.
I sat in the chair and looked at her face — the swelling nearly gone now, her breathing slow and even — and I thought about Michael sitting across from me at my kitchen table every Sunday for two years.
Eating my food.
Watching my daughter grow.
Waiting.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
*You should have let her keep the money, Daniel.
This isn't over.*
I photographed the screen and called Detective Collins back.
She answered on the first ring.
"I just received a message," I said.
"From a number I don't recognize."
A pause.
"Read it to me."
I did.
Another pause.
Longer.
May you like
"Don't respond," she said.
"And Daniel — lock Lily's hospital room door."
