The other told me they needed my statement while the timeline was fresh.
Fresh.
As if trauma was produce on a shelf.
I stood in my own driveway while Lauren sat on the curb near the SUV, hands shaking between her knees, and watched an officer photograph the garage door, the key dish, the plug-in warmer, the spare fob, and the note.
The note was placed into a paper evidence envelope.
Not plastic.
Paper.
I remember that because my mind chose the strangest details to hold onto.
When the officer finally read enough of it to question Lauren, her story broke apart in pieces.
She said she owed money.
She said it was not a lot at first.
She said someone she had been seeing told her Daniel could help her if she just got access to his work laptop.
She said Daniel refused when she asked him for money two days earlier.
