“In the bedroom upstairs.”
I looked from the back patio to the terrace of the Pearsons. You couldn’t really see inside from this angle.
Zoe‘s camera bag, and the drone, were on the ground near the pool.
“I’ve got footage. I can show you.” She grabbed her drone from the ground, pulled out the flash card, then snatched a laptop from her backpack. She set it on top of a patio table by the pool, flipped open the lid, and inserted the card into the slot. Zoe pulled the footage into Final Cut Pro. It was editing software on the Mac.
After she imported the footage, we huddled around the screen as she replayed it. Confusion and anger tensed her face. There was nothing but blocky digital noise in red, green, and blue. “I don’t understand.”
She ejected the card and tried re-importing the footage, but it had the same result. The footage was corrupted.
Zoe looked at us with panicked eyes. “I swear, I know what I saw. He strangled her. I had it all right here.”
A frustrated sigh escaped my mouth.
“You’ve got to believe me.”
20
It was late, but there were still a few lights on in the Pearsons’ house.
I rang the video doorbell.
A few moments later, Julie’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour. We received another report of a domestic incident. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
She huffed. “I’m fine. Who is making these reports?”
“Would you mind coming to the door? As a matter of procedure, I need to see that you are unharmed.”
An exasperated sigh escaped her lips. “Fine. I’ll be right down.”
She buzzed us through the courtyard gate, and we stepped to the porch. A moment later, a light flicked on in the foyer, and a figure descended the grand staircase.
Julie unlatched the deadbolt and pulled open the door, wearing a silk robe cinched around her waist. She looked at me with annoyed eyes. “As you can see, deputy, I’m perfectly fine.”
I surveyed her carefully. There were no marks on her neck. No bruising. No abrasions on her face.
“I’m terribly sorry. I know this is frustrating. Are you alone in the house?”
“No. My husband is here, my son is sleeping, and our oldest is out carousing around, I suppose.”
By that time, Richard was at the top of the stairs, wearing boxers and a t-shirt. His hair was disheveled. He plunged down the steps and joined us at the door. “Who is making these insane accusations?”
“I’m not at liberty to divulge that information.”
“I want to file suit. This is an invasion of privacy and a violation of the law.”
“You can make an information request, but names of witnesses are typically protected.”
Anger tightened Richard’s jaw.
"I hate to ask, but were you engaged in any behavior that could be…misconstrued?
"What do you mean?”
"We got a report that you strangled your wife.”
