"That's right."

"Did the caller give a name?"

"No."

"A phone number?"

"It was a blocked number."

"Did dispatch record the call?"

Haskins shifted. "I'd have to check."

"Officer, did you check before today?"

"I'm sure it's in the system."

"Is it?" Elijah took a single step forward. "Because I submitted an open-records request to the Camilla Police Department two weeks ago. I asked for the call log, the audio, and the dispatch notes for that tip. The department replied that no such record exists."

The gallery stirred. Lindholm's head lifted from her notes.

Haskins's smile thinned. "I wouldn't know about that. Records isn't my department."

"No, sir. But you told the court the tip came from dispatch."

"That's what I was told."

"Told by whom?"

Haskins hesitated for exactly one second. "My shift supervisor. Sergeant Webb."

"Did Sergeant Webb log the tip?"

"Not that I know of."

"So the only record of this call," Elijah said slowly, "is your word."

"I'm an officer of the law, son."

"Yes, sir. That's why I'm asking."

The words landed softly. But in the silence that followed, they seemed to grow, to fill the room. Elijah glanced at Tolbert and saw, for the first time that morning, that the judge's smirk had stopped moving.

He did not look triumphant. He looked careful.

Behind him, in the shadow of the gallery, a woman in the third row quietly whispered, "That boy knows what he's doing."

And Elijah turned the page of his notebook. He had only taken the first step.

Chapter 9: The Timeline

"Officer Haskins," Elijah said, "you wear a body camera, correct?"

"Department-issued. Yes."

"Was it recording on the night of August twenty-second?"

Haskins shifted his weight. The chair complained. "It was... malfunctioning. Battery issue."

"Malfunctioning."

"That's right."

"Did you report the malfunction?"

"Not formally."

"Did you note it in your report?"

The officer's jaw flexed. "I may have left it out."

"You may have left it out." Elijah nodded, as if filing the words away in a drawer. He did not smile. He did not look at the gallery. He only waited, and the waiting did more work than any question could have, because the silence stretched and thickened until the sound of someone's pen scratching in the front row seemed to echo.

"Let me move on," he said. "You testified that you initiated a traffic stop on a silver sedan near Third and Pecan."

"I did."

"What time?"

"Nine fifty-two p.m."

"You're certain?"

"It's in my report."

"It is." Elijah turned a page. "And that's the time at which my brother, according to your testimony, got out of that car and ran."

"Correct."

"On foot. And you caught him."

"Within a minute or two."

"Where?"

"Half a block east. On the sidewalk near the corner."

"And you handcuffed him there?"

"Yes."