"He could have moved it. He moves it. He's always up there."
Hendricks said, "Mrs. Pelletier, we've reviewed footage from the camera going back about forty days, and the frame doesn't move."
"Then he edited it. He's a—he knows computers, he does all this—"
"Mrs. Pelletier," Hendricks said, "where were you at nine-forty on Friday night?"
It was such a simple question. I watched it land. I watched Debra open her mouth and close it. I watched her look, very quickly, not at Hendricks, not at me, but at the front corner of my garage, at the empty bracket where my driveway camera had been until two o'clock that afternoon.
"I was in my bath," she said.
"Okay," said Hendricks.
"I want you to come see," Debra said suddenly. "I want you to come up and see what I see. From my tub. You'll understand. You can see right out at his house. You'll see." Her voice was rising. "You're taking his word for everything because he's got machines and numbers. Come upstairs. Come and look out of my window and tell me I'm crazy."