Chapter 3: What the Cameras Saw
They loaded me onto the stretcher at 5:04 p.m.
I know the exact time because I watched the officer write it in his notebook while Tyler stood six feet away explaining, in his most reasonable voice, that the deck railing had been rotting for months and that he had been meaning to get it fixed and that really, if anyone was responsible, it was the contractor their father had hired two summers ago.
He said all of this without once looking at me.
"Sir." The officer — his name tag read DELUCA — held up one hand.
"We'll need a statement from everyone present.
Please don't leave the property."
"Of course." Tyler's hand went to his chest.
"We're not going anywhere.
This is our family home."
DeLuca turned toward Lauren.
She was still holding Mason against her hip, one arm wrapped around him so tightly the boy had stopped squirming.
Her eyes were fixed on a point somewhere between the broken railing and the ground.
"Ma'am, can I get your name?"
"Lauren Calloway."
"And you witnessed the incident?"
Tyler's gaze moved to her face.
Just for a second.
But I saw it from the stretcher, and so did DeLuca.
Lauren's jaw tightened.
"I was inside when it happened."
Mason's head came up.
"No you weren't, Mommy.
You were—"
"Mason." Her voice was soft but absolute.
"Sweetheart, go find Grandma Diane."
The boy looked at her.
Then at his father.
Then at me on the stretcher.
He didn't move.
Sarah finished securing the straps across my chest.
She leaned close enough that only I could hear her.
"Is there anyone we can call for you?
Someone not in this yard?"
I thought about that for a moment.
My address book was short on people who hadn't spent the last three days calling Tyler to offer condolences about the will.
"My grandmother's attorney," I said.
"His name is Richard Okafor."
Sarah nodded once.
She didn't write it down.
She just nodded, the way someone does when they've already decided to remember something.
The second officer — younger, with a sunburn across his nose — had moved to the back door of the house.
He stood there with his hand on the frame, not going in, just looking.
"Who else was inside the residence during the incident?" he called out.
Silence.
Then Harold's voice, steady and practiced: "Just family."
"We'll need the names of every guest present today."
"I'll have my attorney provide that list."
DeLuca looked up from his notebook.
"Sir, this is a preliminary inquiry.
We can do this here or we can do it at the station.
Your choice."
Harold's mouth opened.
Then closed.
It was the second time in an hour he'd had nothing to say.
I would have savored it more if I could have felt my legs.
They wheeled me toward the ambulance.
The wheels of the stretcher caught on a gap between the patio stones, and the small jolt sent a fresh wave of pain through my back — but still nothing below.
Just absence.
A hollow where sensation used to live.
I stared up at the sky.
It was still that same flat, relentless Connecticut blue.
Then I heard it.
A door opening.
Not the back door — the side gate that led to the driveway.
Footsteps on gravel.
DeLuca's head came up sharply.
"Hey — stop right there."
I turned my head as far as the stretcher would allow.
Marcus was halfway to his car.
He froze with his hand on the door handle.
He was still wearing his polo shirt from the party.
His phone was in his other hand, screen lit.
"Marcus Webb?" DeLuca called.
A pause.
Then: "Yeah."
"You installed the security system on this property?"
Another pause.
Longer.
"I did."
"Then I need you to come back inside, sir.
We're going to need to review that footage."
Marcus looked at Tyler across the yard.
Tyler's expression didn't move.
But his hand — his right hand, the one closest to his body — curled slowly into a fist.
Marcus looked back at the officer.
"The system had a malfunction," he said.
"This morning.
It's been offline since about noon."
The words landed flat and rehearsed, like something read off a card.
DeLuca wrote something in his notebook.
He didn't look up when he said, "We'll need you to show us that in writing, Mr.
Webb.
Come back inside, please."
May you like
Marcus came back inside.
And as they wheeled me past him, I watched him avoid my eyes with the focused, deliberate effort of a man who knows exactly what he erased.
