"I wanted to know who was on this bench every morning. Because from here, you can see the main walkway between Whitmore and the cafeteria. And I wanted to know if you were the kind of person who notices things."
A pause.
Walter Briggs looked at her for a moment. Then he looked at the walkway.
"I was county sheriff for 22 years," he said. "Noticing things is what I did."
"I know."
"What are you asking me, Miss Holloway?"
She looked at him directly.
"Last Monday, about 11:20, there was an incident on that path. A young man, big, dark jacket, came out of the east doorway of Whitmore and intercepted me walking toward the cafeteria."
Walter Briggs said nothing. He was looking at the path.
"I'm asking if you saw it," she said.
A long pause.
"I saw something," he said carefully. "I saw a young man come out of that doorway at a pace and an angle that didn't match someone who was just trying to get somewhere. It looked like an interception."
He paused.
"And then I saw you walk through it like you'd been expecting it," he said. "Which I found interesting."
"Did you take out your phone?" she asked.
He looked at her. A longer look this time.
"I have a habit," he said slowly, "that I developed over 22 years. When I see something that doesn't look right, I document it. Out of instinct, mostly. My wife says I should have left the instincts in the office when I retired."
He reached into his jacket pocket and took out his phone.
It was not a new phone. It had a case that had been cracked and repaired with clear tape. He held it up, screen facing him. Then turned it toward Reagan.
A video. Forty-eight seconds, shot from the bench.
The angle was slightly elevated, which gave it a clear view of the path without obstruction.
She watched it.
She saw herself walk down the path. She saw Trent come out of the doorway. She saw the trajectory of his movement. The angle made it undeniable. He was not going anywhere except toward her.
She saw herself adjust and move through it. She saw him stumble, recover, pause. She saw herself continue walking without looking back.
She looked up at Walter Briggs.
"Is that useful to you?" he asked.
"Very," she said.
"You want to tell me what's going on?"
She thought about it for a moment.
"A student has been running a campaign to generate a conduct violation against me before a competition deadline," she said. "So that I lose my athletic scholarship. That was one attempt. There'll be another. Probably soon."
"Who's the student?"
"Shane Whitfield."
Something moved in Walter Briggs's face. Not surprise, exactly. The specific expression of someone who hears a name and thinks, Of course.
"I know that family," he said.
Not elaborating. Just, I know that family. In a tone that said everything without saying anything.