I tapped the glass, forwarding the video file Malcolm had pulled from the estate’s backup cloud server.

On the other end of the line, there was only the sound of Evan’s shallow breathing.

Then, a faint, high-pitched chime signaled his phone had received the message.

“What is this?” he muttered.

“Play it,” I said.

I watched the progress bar on my own screen finish its transfer.

“That’s the side entrance to my father’s house,” I said.

“The one with the heavy brass deadbolt.”

“The one the probate deputy locked and taped yesterday morning.”

A long pause stretched over the line.

I could hear the rustle of his clothing as he shifted his weight.

“That isn’t me,” he said, though his voice had dropped an octave.

“It is,” I replied.

“And the woman holding the flashlight next to you is Sloane.”

“The camera has an infrared night-vision lens, Evan.”

“Your face is perfectly clear when you turn to kick the door frame.”

“So is hers.”

“Malcolm is sitting right next to me in this car.”

“He’s already logged the footage into the sheriff’s department database.”