Then I showed her the driveway camera. Same night. 9:31, the van. 9:34, the garage door, the hand truck, the fleece, the lilac capri pants. 9:41, Debra stopping in her driveway and looking straight up at my camera for two full seconds.
Hendricks didn't say anything for a while after that. She watched the van leave. Then she backed it up and watched Debra look at the camera again. Then she said, "She said twenty to ten."
"She said twenty to ten."
"In the bath."
"That's what she said."
"Huh," Hendricks said, which I would come to learn was what both of these officers said instead of swearing. She wrote down the timestamps. She asked me what was in the boxes. I said I had no idea, that Debra told me she was reselling returns, overstock, to pay for her husband's care. I told her about the gap in the driveway footage on the day of Folasade's missing package, and the capri pants at the edge of the doorbell frame, and the outlet. I told her about my post. I told her, finally, about the store card, the account opened in May in my name, the bank in Utah, and the officer who'd told me it was probably an out-of-state ring and a drop house.
"That was me," Hendricks said. "I told you that."
"You did."