“Let me see that,” I said, grabbing it from his hands.

I scrolled through the small screen and saw a list of four recordings, all exactly four hours long, and each one stamped with a different date and time.

“How long have you been doing this?” I asked.

“A couple weeks,” Bolton said, narrowing his eyes. “Long enough to have captured you.”

“What about the old ones?”

“I’ve saved everything from the past few weeks on my computer,” he said.

“What time do you record?”

“Eleven o’clock to three o’clock.”

“Can I come up and see them?”

“What?” he asked, and he looked at me as if I were a leper. “No!”

• • •

I rang Emma’s buzzer once, and then again and then one more time.

I’d run all the way there from the park, leaving Reg standing there with his flowerpot, flashlight, and attitude in hand.

I could see that there was a light on in her apartment. After I pushed the buzzer a few times, I stepped back and saw that the light had been turned off.

Damn it.

I pushed it again, repeatedly now, and finally, I heard static over the intercom.

“Who is it?” she demanded, anger and exhaustion in her voice.

“It’s Chris.”

There was silence for a few moments, and then she spoke again.

“Go away, Chris, please. It’s not a good time.”

“I need to talk to you,” I said.

I didn’t hear anything for a moment, and then I laid on the buzzer again.

“Damn it, Chris!” I heard her say, and then she buzzed the door open. I pushed it and stepped inside.

As I walked in, the memories of the last time I’d been there came back to me, and I put a hand on the wall to steady myself.

I had a sudden image of myself walking down the stairs, Hooks on one side of me and Emma holding my elbow on the other side. I could only see his face; hers was just out of sight the entire time.

I walked up the stairs, and when I reached the second floor, I turned and headed toward her door. It was open, and Emma was standing there with her arms crossed in front of her chest, her face covered in frustration.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Do you know what time it is?”

“How can you keep avoiding me?” I asked. “You carried me down those steps with him.”

She blinked and then shook her head. “What?” she asked.

I could see she was nervous. I could tell she was thinking hard, and I wondered what kinds of lies she was thinking about shelling out to keep me from knowing that I was right.

“You carried me downstairs—those stairs right there—with Ryan Hooks on the night Beverly was killed.”

She stared at me for a moment with her eyes wide.