“Just wait,” Officer Grady says as I start to speak. Several minutes pass with nothing but even though I know what’s coming I can’t help squirming in my seat. I don’t dare blink, afraid of missing something, and I keep my eyes on the screen.

A shape rushes past so quickly that I can’t tell who it is. Officer Grady stops the video, backs it up fifteen seconds and replays it. “We’re pretty sure that’s Jordyn Petit. See the backpack in her hand?”

I nod and we continue to watch the video. The train rushes by and then several more minutes pass. Finally, a woman and her dog come into view. The dog sniffs at the weeds, searching for the best spot to relieve himself while the woman, holding the leash, taps her foot impatiently. The dog, nose to the ground, perks up his ears and pulls on the leash, dragging the woman out of the frame.

The seconds on the time stamp tick by until Officer Grady fast-forwards the video. “The witness calls 9-1-1 and we show up about ten minutes later.”

Right on cue a handful of cops run through the train yard and soon after two EMTs rush past carrying their medical gear. The woman and her dog, escorted by an officer, come back into sight. She is frantically waving her arms and talking when she suddenly looks at her hands as if seeing them for the first time. This is where I must have asked, Is that blood?

The EMTs hurry by again, this time carrying Cora on a stretcher. In the upper corner of the video a shadow appears. It’s all I can do to not rip the phone from Officer Grady’s hands to get a closer look.

“What are you looking at?” comes a voice from the doorway. Max has returned.

“Quiet,” I demand and see the hurt on his face. Dammit, I think. I can’t seem to win with Max right now. Max is part of this family. Shouldn’t he hear what’s going on? “I’m sorry, Max,” I tell him. He nods but I can tell his feelings are hurt. He stands behind us and watches as I return my attention to the video. The person on the edge of the video gets closer and I know it’s Violet.

Her movements are odd. Zombielike and she’s carrying something in her hand. My stomach lurches. The knife. Violet drops it to the ground and the next thirty seconds of film are chaos. I watch myself running toward her, my feet kicking up the dusty gravel, a cop at my heels. Me, pulling a bloody Violet into my arms, thinking that she was dying, laying her on the ground.