“The door log shows who was in the building.”
“Who was in the building on June 14th at 2:22 p.m.?”
“One person, Your Honor. Badge 004.”
Then Dennis Hollis.
A heavy man in a brown suit who clearly wished he were anywhere else.
“Mr. Hollis, who retained your firm to surveil Ms. Cooper?”
“Mr. Foster.”
“Brian Foster?”
“Yes.”
“What were your instructions?”
“Document any parole violation. Contact with co-defendants. Association with felons. Report weekly.”
“Did Mr. Foster tell you his wife— his sister-in-law— would be visiting Ms. Cooper?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Were you surprised when she did?”
“Very.”
“What did you do?”
“My job. I photographed it.”
Anita put the photographs on the screen.
Nicole in the yard.
The envelope leaving her hand.
The envelope on the grass.
Me, not picking it up.
And one more — Hollis had a long lens — of Nicole’s wrist as she threw it.
Our father’s watch.
Clear as day.
