Chapter 6 - NOT AGAIN
I replayed the clip five times.
Not again.
James watched it once.
"Who sent this?"
I typed back: Who is this?
No answer.
I forwarded the clip to Officer Ramirez and saved copies in three places.
Then I called Uncle Bob.
He picked up immediately.
"Did you send me the video?"
"No."
"Dad says 'not again.' What did he mean?"
Bob went quiet.
"I don't know."
"Don't lie to me too."
His sigh sounded old. "Sarah, some things happened when you were away at college."
"What things?"
"Your cousin Megan had a little boy. Tyler. He was two. Lauren was babysitting him at your parents' house one afternoon."
My stomach tightened.
"What happened?"
"He came home with a bruise on his arm. Lauren said he fell against a coffee table. Megan believed her. Or wanted to."
"That's it?"
"No."
I gripped the phone.
Bob continued, "A neighbor told your father she heard Lauren screaming at the kid through an open window. Later she saw Lauren yank him off the porch by one arm."
"Was it reported?"
"Your father convinced everyone not to make trouble. Said Lauren was young, stressed, that Tyler was wild."
"How old was Lauren?"
"Twenty-eight."
Not young.
Not a teenager.
An adult.
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Because by then you'd moved away, and your parents didn't want you judging her."
I laughed, once, without humor. "Judging her for hurting a toddler?"
Bob said nothing.
That afternoon Officer Ramirez came to our house. She watched the clip on my laptop.
"This is useful," she said. "But defense counsel may challenge how it was obtained. We need the original file or cloud account records."
"My father has the memory card."
"Then we'll ask for it."
At 4:17 p.m., Dad texted me a photo.
A black plastic memory card sat on the concrete floor of his garage.
Beside it was a hammer.
May you like
His message had only six words.
THERE. NOW EVERYONE CAN MOVE ON.
