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It doesn’t matter if I give it back.

Delete it.

I already have it on video.

All of it.

On screen, Casey is still talking. “I’m making a copy tomorrow. Maybe two. And then I’m taking one to somebody who can actually do something about it, because telling people in this town doesn’t count unless you can prove it.”

She hesitates.

“And now I can.”

The tape rolls for another few seconds on the empty street.

Then static swallows the screen.

The VCR hums on while Serena’s shoulder stays pressed against mine, neither of us reaching for the remote.

I already have it on video.

All of it.

For days, those words have been nothing but fragments from a terrified girl’s last phone call.

Now we’re looking at exactly what she meant.

Casey caught Pastor Scofield driving drunk. She caught the Chief not intervening. No arrest. No breathalyzer. No report that we’ve found. Just a phone call, another driver, and the problem quietly escorted home.

And Casey made copies.

I look at Serena. She’s already looking at me. “This is it,” I say.

Her eyes flick toward the television. “This is what she knew.”

“And what somebody wanted gone.”

The certainty of it settles between us.

Now we know.

The Chief covered for Pastor Scofield. Casey recorded it. She likely told someone she had proof, and not long after, she disappeared.

Serena’s expression hardens. “We have to take this to Mara.”

I’d rather take it to Evan. I have reasons for that, none of which I’m interested in explaining to Serena until I know whether they’re paranoia or instinct.

I look at the cassette still turning inside the VCR. “Yeah.”

Because finding the evidence isn’t the problem anymore.

The problem is figuring out how the fuck you build a case against the man who made sure there wasn’t one.

21

PROCEDURAL DEVIATION

SERENA