Chapter 3
Officer Miller cradled the smartphone in his palm as if it were fragile porcelain, his thumb pressing the side button to test for power. The screen flickered to life, casting a cold blue glow across his weather-beaten face and illuminating the deep lines of concern etched around his eyes. Arthur’s breath hitched, a faint bead of sweat breaking out along his hairline despite the chill in the church. "That device is private property," Arthur asserted, stepping forward again, though his voice lacked its previous thunder. "It was recovered from the personal effects of a deceased person. Without a warrant, any viewing constitutes an unlawful search." Officer Miller didn't even bother to look up from the screen. "Under exigent circumstances involving potential foul play, Mr. Vance, preservation of evidence takes precedence," Miller replied smoothly, tapping the screen to unlock it. A momentary pause hung in the air, broken only by the steady, ambient hum of the church's heating system and the soft rustle of Beatrice’s burgundy shawl. To everyone's astonishment, the phone did not require a passcode; Sarah had clearly left it primed and waiting for discovery, anticipating the exact moment her daughter would need to deliver it. A video file sat at the very top of the recent recordings list, timestamped just twenty minutes before the police report placed Sarah's car at the bottom of the ravine. Miller pressed play, keeping the screen tilted slightly toward himself while his partner, Officer Torres, flanked him to block any sudden lunges from Arthur. The church fell into an unnatural, breathless silence as the first few seconds of audio crackled through the small speaker. The sound of rain lashing against a car windshield filled the nave, followed instantly by the unmistakable, panicked cadence of Arthur’s voice arguing fiercely over a Bluetooth connection. Beatrice closed her eyes, her lips moving in a silent, desperate prayer as the digital reckoning began to unfold in real time. Lily stood quietly by the white casket, her hand resting gently on the edge of the floral arrangements, watching her uncle squirm as the ghosts of his own making stepped out of the shadows. The evidence was no longer theoretical; it was breathing, speaking, and condemning everyone who had tried to bury the truth alongside Sarah.
