The study printer still contained a partial document in the queue log matching the petition Claire had photographed. The home security system logs showed Marcus entering the study at 9:06 p.m., well before he supposedly “discovered” Claire in an episode. More important than that, the downstairs hallway camera—which Marcus had installed for “security”—captured muted video of part of the confrontation.
No audio.
But enough.
Enough to show Marcus closing the study door behind him.
Enough to show Claire trying to move past him into the hall.
Enough to show his arm shooting out.
Enough to show her striking the wall.
Enough to show who advanced and who retreated.
By 5:42, the sun had not fully cleared the horizon, but Marcus Delroy’s story was already ash.
He came to the station at 6:10.
That part was almost too perfect, though I assure you it happened exactly as I am telling it.
He walked in wearing a different shirt, no tie, face composed into the expression of a troubled husband bearing up under strain. He was good at entrances. He had probably practiced that one in the mirror as a boy without knowing what he was training for.
He did not know yet that Trent Baines had been asked to leave.
He did not know the email had been seen.
He did not know about the hallway camera.
He smiled when he saw me.
Actually smiled.
“Evelyn,” he said, as if we had met over brunch.
I stood up.
The lobby went still.
“Where is my wife?” he asked Chief Reeves, who had stepped out of his office at the exact wrong moment for Marcus and the exact right one for justice.
Reeves said, “Mr. Delroy, we need to speak with you in Interview Three.”
Marcus’s eyes shifted. Just once. A quick recalculation.
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